


Long Nights

by Familiae



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire Slayer, Flirting, Horseback Riding, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-08-14 16:24:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 44,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20195203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Familiae/pseuds/Familiae
Summary: This is all there is of this story...





	1. First Night

As the high-pitched yelp echoed across the darkened cavern, a thought blossomed into the forefront of Izaac’s mind: he could leave him here. He could leave Spence here to be torn to shreds and rot, and no one would know any different. His father would be perturbed, oh surely. Maybe even blame Izaac for it. There would be weeks—if not months—of ceaseless hunting. He’d want revenge for his fallen son while his blood still burned hot; Izaac had no doubt of that. But soon enough, he’d forget all about Spencer, all about that spoiled brat, and Izaac would be free of all burdens. The cavern was dark, and wet, and slippery—the little fuckers were hot on their heels, if Izaac said they caught Spence—too late to save him, so sad—there would be no one to tell his father any different.  
  
“Izaac!” came the yelp from some feet away.  
  
But what if they didn’t kill him? What if they turned him instead? Then, his father would always blame him for Spencer’s death, and their home would be overrun. Somehow, Izaac doubted his old man would have the stomach to gut his own son.  
  
“Izaac, please!”  
  
Izaac cursed. He dug his boots into the ground, almost slipping, and turned—running towards his brother’s pig-like squeals.  
  
Spence was struggling to stand when Izaac reached him. His right leg trembled, and he seemed to be trying to avoid putting any weight on it, using the cavern’s walls for support. When he caught sight of Izaac, he yelled out: “My ankle!”  
  
Has the idiot broken it? If so, all hope was lost. Izaac would not be able to crawl out of here alive if he was forced to drag his dimwitted brother along. He’d leave Spencer to his own devices. But, despite his bitter thoughts, he dropped to one knee in front of his brother—seeing as he was already here, he might as well check.  
  
“Is it broken?” he groped for his brother’s leg in the dark, fingers squeezing the muscles of the calf, skimming lower still, trying to feel for injuries underneath the supple leather of the boot. The leg felt firm under his fingers. Spencer flinched when he groped the ankle, but it turned smoothly under the pressure. “Sore at best,” anger tickled his spine then—they were losing ground for nothing, “c’mon you idiot, move!”  
  
“B-But—”  
  
Whatever words his brother had to say, did not matter. More whining and gibbering, surely. Izaac searched, blindly, for Spencer’s hand, and once he found it, tightly wrapped his fingers around the wrist and yanked him forward.  
  
It would seem he had to drag his brother to safety either way.  
  
Spencer made a show of limping as Izaac yanked, seeming as if any kind of movement was a great struggle. As soon as a snarl echoed across the dark, however, he was stumbling forward with such haste, Izaac had trouble keeping up.  
  
They’re too close. We won’t make it.  
  
Izaac would be damned if he died here, in the dark to never be found, clothes turned to shreds, and his idiot brother whimpering at his arm. Maybe they could turn around, catch them by surprise, kill a few and keep retreating until they made it out. But, even so, it was hours until sunrise. They did not have the strength not the supplies to hold out a whole hoard; let alone for hours.  
  
Just when things took a grim turn, he spotted light in the distance. The moon filtering its light through the mouth of the cavern—outside, their mounts would wait, nervous and anxious to part.  
  
Without thinking, Izaac hurried his space, using his lasts reserves of strength for one last burst of speed. Spencer followed his lead, suddenly both eager and panicked.   
  
When they burst through the mouth of the cave, patchy grass under their shoes, and a brittle wind kissing their skin, neither dare slow their pace. They hurried towards the horses—one made of gilded gold, and one as pale as the moon—tied to a thin tree, pawing the ground and snorting, their breath making puffs of white in the air.  
  
And that’s when the air was knocked out of Izaac’s lungs.  
  
When he dragged in a breath, he was lying on his back—looking up at patches of the night sky between the branches of the nearby trees. He pulled himself up, just in time to see the golden mare cease her ferocious protests, and finally give in to Spencer’s lead—galloping away and disappearing into the trees.  
  
Izaac had no way of knowing if Spencer’s blow had been on purpose or not, but the dull throb over his ribs told him it had been real enough. Swallowing curses, he stumbled to his feet, and dragged himself towards the horse.   
  
The horse was panicked now—yanking against the bridle, eyes wide, snorting, and throwing its head back. Izaac had no time to soothe the panicked animal, so he set to work at untying the reins, finding his fingers clumsy and slow to respond. Once the work was done, he threw himself at the horse’s back, half-hoping it was not as ill-tempered as his mare, and tried to throw him off.  
  
To his relief, it followed along to his lead with hardly any protests, and Izaac kicked back, hurrying it along into a gallop. The little horse weaved through the trees with little problem, automatically picking a path between them with little prompting from Izaac. When Izaac craned his head to look back, he saw no signs of pursuit, though he could hear the snarls, growls, hisses, and hurried footsteps of the things weaving their way through the forest. If they were this bold, it must mean it was still far away from sunrise.  
  
Izaac cursed, hurrying his horse along. Suddenly, it reared back, screaming, and Izaac was thrown from its back. He landed hard against the ground, missing a tree by mere inches.   
  
When he looked up, the little horse was struggling to kick its attacker away—it was one of them. Somehow, they had run straight for it, and the thing had gotten tangled on the horse’s legs. Its teeth were sunk just above the horse’s hoof. The animal screamed and kicked back, but the creature didn’t even seem to feel the blows. As Izaac watched on in growing horror, another leaped from the bushes, clinging to the horse’s back and grinning wildly.  
  
His mount was lost. Gingerly, before he was noticed, Izaac stood and stumbled away from them—the horse’s screams echoing inside his skull.   
  
He ran—ran despite the burning in his muscles, and despite his breath coming ragged and torn. Ran because there was nothing else to do but flee. He weaved and turned his way around the trees, skidding and slipping to avoid running into any. A vine got tangled around an arm, and he felt it cut into his skin, but he could do nothing more than yank until he was free from the offending vegetation. Twice, he stumbled and nearly fell. All throughout his growing panic, he could hear the sound of footsteps, fast and closing, shadowing his every step.  
  
He splashed into a stream, and waded his way through it—feeling his breeches soak in the cold water. On a whim, he turned, following the creek to its source, half hoping it led away from the forest, into open ground where he could turn and fight these fuckers.  
  
To his surprise, he burst from the line of trees and nearly ran into a man. They both grunted with surprise, and Izaac found himself clutching the figure, spinning him around. When he looked up, he found himself staring into brilliant green eyes—so bright, Izaac was struck stupid by them.  
  
“Take my mount,” the man hissed, shoving Izaac forward to blindly grasp at a horse’s side.  
  
Speechless, Izaac grappled for the saddle, boosting himself up onto its back. Once he was seated, he turned to look at the man—his wits finally returning to him. “What about you?”  
  
“Oh, don’t worry about me—I’ll be coming for him later,” and with that, the man grinned, slapping the jet-black stallion on its rump, and forcing Izaac to bite his words.  
  
A single thought echoed in his mind as the horse galloped away from danger: why did he think he saw fangs poking out between those lips?


	2. Second Night: Arrival

It was sunset when Izaac finally spun the weary stallion in the direction of the stables.

Somehow, as morning came he had come into a small town just off the forest’s way. Izaac had only remembered that his father had told them of this place, before he dived, head-first, into the nearest inn. The stallion he had borrowed from the stranger seemed to be as docile as a sheep as Izaac lead it towards the town, but once surrounded by others, the animal had quickly turned dangerous. Twice it had simply kicked blindly back at whoever brushed against it, and as Izaac handed the reins to the innkeeper’s son, the animal had bitten the man’s hand hard enough to draw blood. In the end, it had allowed no one but Izaac to tend to it, forcing Izaac to waste good resting time in soothing and feeding the weary stallion.

Which brought the subject of the mystery horse. The stallion was gorgeous, and of good healthy stock; that much was evident by a mere glance. It was as black as sin, elegant, tireless, and intelligent. It had not stopped or slowed even once until it had gotten its rider away from danger. Ill-tempered it might be, it seemed to be the gentlest soul upon a single touch of Izaac’s, and responded to his commands eagerly.

It was tired now; the tall proud horse’s head hung low. Izaac had raced it mercilessly in an attempt to catch up to his brother. Of Spence, Izaac had seen hide nor hair since he had last seen the man hurrying away on _Izaac’s_ horse.

As he neared the stables, he saw a familiar round face peek from the edges. Once the boy recognized who he was, he rushed towards Izaac, a hand immediately falling on the horse’s reins.

“Master Izaac, your father’s waiting for you in his office,” Jonah sounded bright and cheerful as he always did, and to Izaac’s surprise, the stallion did not lunge at its new prey. Maybe it was too tired to bother.

“Teke?” the words stumbled from his lips before he could even stop to consider them: as much as he hated to admit, he was deeply attached to the grumpy mare.

“She’s fine—tired, however. Your brother must have raced her without stopping for rest, when he got here the poor thing could barely stand.”

_But she’s fine_. There was relief in that. He’d need to visit her, to apologize on his brother’s behalf, but she would live. Might refuse to let a saddle near her for a few days, but he could deal with that. 

“Be careful with the beast,” Izaac warned as Jonah neared the stallion, “it’s ill-tempered, with some strong teeth to it.”

But the boy was looking at the horse—his eyes wide as he appreciated the animal. “Why, where did you get such a handsome horse?”

The lie came easily enough, “Stole him,” though, truth be told, he wasn’t sure why he should lie about the stallion’s origins, “kind of. His owner should come for him soon enough—do make sure the horse does not drop dead by then.”

“Oh, no, no, no. That’d be a heavy loss, I’ll make sure it’s well tended to, Izaac. Now, don’t worry about me or this silly horse, hurry along—your father’s already plenty cross with you.”

Izaac nodded, promising himself he’d go check on the mare later. Squaring his shoulders, he tried to mentally prepared himself for his father’s rage. The lies told by Spencer would surely cost him.


	3. Second Night: Homecoming

“I cannot stand for the growing carelessness you two continue to exhibit.”

The last rays of the sun filtered through the large windows, bathing the room in orange light. The man Izaac called his father sat in a small leather armchair, his frowning profile facing the siblings. When Izaac had arrived, he had been puffing on a cigarette, and the smell still clung to the room despite the fact that it had been stubbed out long ago.

Spencer stood a little to the side, his hands tucked behind his back, struggling to stand as still as a stone to avoid drawing his father’s eye. In contrast, Izaac struggled to keep on his feet. He was sore from riding in a saddle all day, and weary from the travel. But he stood, because he had no other choice, though, with every passing second his temper grew shorter—and he feared he was moments away from storming out of the room.

“I warned you about this,” Izaac hissed, forgetting to keep his anger in check, “I told you that I could complete the mission seamlessly with Dorian by my side,” and this time, he turned his furious glare towards his brother, gesturing at him with a slender finger, “instead you give me this buffoon, and, what does he do? He waltzes around carelessly and nearly gets us killed!”

“And you got my gelding killed! Did you like that, Izaac? Did you plan to use my horse as bait all along?”

“I wouldn’t have gotten near your useless horse if you hadn’t taken mine!”

“Enough!” the voice echoed across the room, stopping Spencer mid-word, and forcing Izaac’s eyes to turn from his brother to his father, “This squabbling has got to cease. You two are brothers—you’re supposed to hunt as a team, and until you can do that you will hunt with no one else!” He paused then, letting that sink in, then turned his eyes towards Izaac’s face, “And that includes your Dorian.”

Izaac squared his jaws; his nostrils flared, but he held his tongue. His father held his gaze for a few moments before sighing, looking away—towards the window.

“There’s plenty of good horses at the stable, Spencer. Tell the stable boy you need a new mount, if none suit your fancy, then try going into the village. But, please, Spencer, is it not time for your peevishness—pick a horse and stay with it.”

Through his peripheral vision, Izaac saw Spencer flinch, but his brother did not speak.

“For now, you two will rest. Tomorrow, a guest arrives, and I’ll expect you two to have gotten over your differences and greet the newcomer as one of our own. His parents have passed away and his aunt and uncle face a very precarious economic situation, and cannot deal with two boys and a girl. As such, he will be staying with us for the time being. He is your cousin, so do be sure not to tear him apart as you do each other.

“Now, Spencer, you may retire to your room if you so wish. Izaac, you stay.”

Spencer stiffened at the words, shooting a glare in Izaac’s direction. When their father did not speak again, he finally turned away, sparing a quick bow and a curt farewell in their direction before slipping out the door.

Izaac wanted to ask about this cousin. He was curious—he had never heard of him before, he didn’t think. And what would they do about their little, ah, hobby? Hunting tended to drain them during the nighttime, so they were rarely up during the day. Would that not appear odd to their guest?

Before he could voice any of his doubts, however, his father spoke, forcing Izaac to pay attention.

“I believe I asked you to teach your brother.”

Ah, so here it came.

“I have tried, father. Believe me that, but he simply does not listen to me. He thinks he can do as he wishes or thinks best, and his big brother will be there to save him. I can do no more than what I’ve done so far.”

He could tell his father didn’t believe him, however. The man frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, and sighing heavily.

“Izaac, we’ve been over this before, he is your brother. It is your duty to keep him safe from harm.”

“That’s not the point—”

“Then, pray tell, what is?”

“Give me another apprentice—any. I’ll train the stable boy if that’s what you wish of me, but I cannot train Spencer.” His father looked up as if to interrupt, but Izaac paid it no mind and plowed on, “Father, he does not listen to a word I say. A mule would be more efficient than he is—at least it knows where to aim as it kicks back.”

“So you’d train the stable boy over your own flesh and blood?” he sneered.

“Jonah would know to keep quiet in a nest of vampires! Spencer cannot keep quiet to save his life—he whines insistently about everything, and then expects me to do something about it. Oh, yes, excuse me m’lady Spence, I’ll just swat away all the flies in the area just for your pleasure! Oh, no—it seems there is a vampire stuck to your ankle, maybe you should, oh, I don’t know kick that off. Oh, no—you expect me to deal with it. Of course, m’lady! Wouldn’t want your dress to get bloodstains on it!”

“Silence!” the words were accentuated by a fist against the armrests of the chair, “I’m weary of your little snips and jests. You will train your brother, and I will hear no more on the subject.”

When Izaac opened his mouth to protest once more, his father held out a hand. “No more. Go rest and leave me. I grow weary of your face.”

And he had little choice then. Izaac bit his tongue, glowering, and offered a stiff bow to his father. His mouth tasted sour as he turned away.


	4. Second Night: Catching Up

“Spencer will get killed if he keeps that up.”

“How I wish that was true.”

As soon as Izaac had walked away from his father’s room he had found Dorian waiting by the stairs. His friend looked weary, but he managed to smile as he caught sight of Izaac. It had taken very little time for Izaac to explain the details of his trip—though, he had left out the stranger and his horse. He would broach the subject later, he had decided—when he was sure they were both alone, and could not be overheard by gossiping maids.

“But, never mind Spencer,” Izaac turned to study Dorian—there was a scratch on his cheek, and bags under his eyes. Izaac had only been gone for a few days, but could something have happened while he was away? “Has anything happened while we were gone? I heard we had a guest coming.”

Dorian grimaced, “That’s right, but not here—let’s go to the stables, surely you’re worried about your horse?”

That much was true, so Izaac did not protest. He nodded, and they both walked quietly away from the house. Outside, the sun had set, and night was falling. The summer had struck quick and hot; singing some of the grass until the edges were frayed and brown and the leaves of the trees sported burnt edges. The wind that brushed against his skin was cool and welcoming, however.

Summer was at its peak. For a time, Izaac had feared the coming of a drought, but always the rain had come—sometimes gentle and freezing, other times vicious, churning the ground to mud. He thought it would be the same this time.

They were far from the main house when Dorian finally decided to speak up.

“It seems your cousin’s coming is not completely accidental,” Dorian hesitated, and when he spoke his voice had dropped in volume until it was nothing more than a mere whisper, “vampires snuck into the home and did away with a few servants and the mother. The father tried to fight them off and ended up gravely wounded—he died later that night. Your cousin was bitten fending off the creatures from his sister.”

Izaac’s eyes widened, “Is he—?”

But Dorian shook his head, “No. Gravely shaken, but he’s fine. M’lord Ivan thinks it proper to teach him a few things, however, so he requested to foster him. He wanted the twin as well, but the uncle would have none of that. I think the only reason he allowed this one to leave him was because he was afraid of the boy turning on them.”

“How much time has passed?” Izaac was intrigued by the story, but altogether not surprised. His father had insisted all of the family should at least learn the basics of the hunt, but many had parted from their roots and dubbed the act as barbaric. They wanted normal lives they said, though that was not very possible. When your family name was so deeply entangled into things of this sort, it was difficult to disentangle them after.

“A month,” Dorian said, with a small nod, “so he’s clean. From what I understand, the bite scarred, however, and it frightens the lady wife, so they wanted to be rid of him.”

Izaac frowned at that. If a little bite scared them, what would they think of his father? Or even of Izaac himself? They both had been bitten countless times, and the thing with vampire bites was that they almost always scarred. His arms were covered with them—and there was even one on his shoulder. It was an unavoidable part of the trade, and sending the boy their way would only guarantee him to get him a few more.

“I see, so our little guest is more than a pretty face to show around,” in that case, Izaac couldn’t help but wonder who would train him. Their father was skilled, but getting old. He was not as quick as he once was, so he had recently fallen back to business, and because of that, their lifestyle had flourished these past few years. They had considerably more comforts and, as a result, family members from all over the globe were now lapping at their toes.

Spencer was a failure, and Izaac was stuck with Spencer, so that left Dorian. Dorian was not as refined as his father would have liked in his killing, but he got the job done. He’d be good enough for an apprentice, Izaac mused, and that’d be his father’s chance to eat up and crumple whatever time Dorian and himself could spend in each other’s company.

There was no love lost between Dorian and Ivan. If left up to his father, he would’ve ran Dorian away long ago. The stubborn fool insisted Dorian was the cause of the rift between the two brothers. Though, if truth be told, that was far from it—although, he was the only person Izaac confided in. As things stood, however, it was nay, impossible. Two hunters, and one nearing retirement, was not nearly enough to tend to all the requests they received. Thus, the urgency to get Spencer ready.

It’d definitely be Dorian training the new recruit then.

“How do you feel about getting a tag-along?”

Dorian shrugged, “Convenient for your father, I’d say, but there’s no reason to refuse. If this cousin of yours proves competent enough, that’d be a huge help with things around here.”

Which was true enough, but still...

Izaac sighed, “Spencer will not cooperate. He’s a deadweight, and my shoulders are sore from carrying him. What I’m more concerned about is that he’ll get _me_ killed as well, and my father would have us holding hands and sharing whores despite it all.”

Dorian grimaced, “Maybe I can try to convince your father to let us both train him? At least then, I could try to get you out of trouble.”

Despite himself, Izaac smiled at the thought. It was unlikely his father would agree, but it was still a good idea. “We’ll see,” they were close to the stables now—he could already see Jonah fiddling away at something in a horse’s stall—his unruly hair sticking up at end, “for now, I should tend to my horse—she must be rather upset as the mistreatment.”

Dorian gave a chuckle at that, “Ah, yes, the little lady will surely be a handful. I’d be surprised if she let you get near her.”

_Without biting my fingers off, you mean._


	5. Second Night: By the Window

****It was well into the night when Izaac finally trudged into his room. He had spent hours with Teke—and it had been clear she was upset. He had decided to take time to groom her, which she seemed to take to well enough. Then, there had been the problem of the stallion.

Jonah had been able to tend to him, but as soon as the horse deemed him unnecessary, it was all Jo could do to lock the beast up in a stall and leave it snorting in displeasure. It had been upset with Izaac, that much was true, but it bent under his ministrations meekly enough.

But now, Izaac was in his room, and he didn’t even have the energy to take off his clothes.

He dealt with the lights, snuffing out the candle by the window. As the light went out, and his vision slowly adjusted to the darkness, he caught movement of something outside.

Something was in the field. It moved quickly; cutting through the ground and hopping the fence as if it were nothing more than a step stool. It rushed into the stable and disappeared into the darkness within.

Izaac was not even sure he saw it. For all he knew it could have been a dog, or even one of their hounds. There was a sable bitch that would often escape the kennels and wander the grounds looking for hares or birds to kill. It would not be completely unthinkable to see her sneak into the stables.

But the man’s words rung in his ears—

_I’ll be coming for him later._

Could it be?

Part of Izaac wanted to head into the stables to check, and he hovered over the indecision. If that man was really here, then wouldn’t he be a danger to him and his? But what would he do? Alert the whole house? He could go there by himself, but that would surely mean his death...

In the end, Izaac stayed fixed in place, watching.Trying to peer through the darkness and make up any figures skulking in the dark.

Time passed, and he thought he saw something moving away. It rushed at the fence and seemed to pause there, stooped over it.

It took Izaac a moment to realize it was looking in the direction of his bedroom window.


	6. Third Night: Markus

It had been well into the afternoon when the renowned cousin arrived. Izaac had been tending to the dogs then—a task he would usually fall back on when he wanted time to think. The borzáya were quiet and gentle; and Izaac could not ask for more relaxing animals to be around. He had been sitting down by the steps leading into the kennels, a cream bitch with splotches of black on her coat with her head flat against Izaac’s right thigh, a white male with black spots that faded to gold sitting up to his left, and a black and tan bitch splayed down by his feet when all three dogs suddenly perked up—ears erect and eyes searching.

It was only a few seconds after the dogs growing alarm that he heard the commotion of horses and carriages pulling along towards the house’s entrance. The black and tan rose to her feet then, and the cream-and-black bitch snorted.

Gently, Izaac pushed her off and climbed to his feet. All three dogs followed along curiously as he made his way towards the sounds—might as well see what this cousin of his was all about. 

He nearly ran into a chambermaid—her arms ladened with clothes and cloths. She yelped when she spotted Izaac, and tried to swerve aside when a dog shoved its nose into her skirts. Izaac watched her pirouette and spin around is useless circles for a few moments, before he finally lent her a steadying hand. 

“Aaah, your father’s looking for you!” she finally blurted out once she seemed to regain her wits, “he asks your presence in the hall—your cousin’s arrived.”

“I can see that,” he said curtly, and when the chambermaid did not move, he was forced to add, “which is why I’m here.”

“Oh!” she grinned, flashing crooked yellow teeth, “of course.”

With that, she gave Izaac a quick bow, then spun around him, sparing the dogs a wide berth before hurrying off. The male looked at her curiously as she left, and took a few steps as if to follow her, but Izaac clicked his tongue and he dutifully came back to his side. It wouldn’t do to have the maid running in useless circles because the curious dog frightened her.

It was odd—Izaac had never seen that woman around here before. He supposed it was of little consequence, but he made a mental note to ask his father should the subject be brought to light. He hadn’t been aware they were hiring more servants.

Gingerly, he stepped into the house, coming to an abrupt halt.

“Ah, I see my son has arrived. Markus—this is Izaac, my eldest. If you need anything you can ask him.”

His father stood barely five feet away from him—directly in front of him stood the stranger Izaac immediately identified as his esteemed cousin—Markus. To Markus’ side stood Spencer, smiling to himself at a joke only he could hear, pressing as close as he could to Markus without actually touching him. Truly, Markus was not as grand or mysterious as he had imagined—nor did he look as rugged and tough as he was led to believe upon hearing his classic tale of survival. He was young—around Spencer’s age, if Izaac could have a guess—and slight of build. He had a sleepy tousled look to him, and his brown hair seemed to have not been properly groomed in a few months—hanging low over his eyes and obscuring his ears from sight. He did not smile or blink at Ivan’s words, but seemed to be drinking them in all the same. Something about him told Izaac that this would not be a pleasant, happy guest.

What was perhaps more alarming than the state of his hair was the wicked scar on the side of his throat—it was no real wonder why his uncle and aunt had been frightened of him. The scar was pink and jagged, with multiple puncture wounds of what must have been several bites, some tearing into the skin causing runnels of them to run for maybe a full inch. The scarring stretched from just below his ear to a little above his shoulder, and the flesh still looked to be an angry pink.

_I must obtain the details of this attack later._

He doubted it would be Markus the one to give it. His parents had died barely a month ago, and he must still be fresh in mourning—aside from that, he had just been torn from the shreds of his family that remained. His grief would make it difficult for him to tell the tale. From the looks of it, either a single vampire had bitten him multiple times, or multiple vampires had a dinner party on his neck. As it stood, he was incredibly lucky to still be alive. He must’ve spent a lot of time bedridden and weak.

Markus had been studying him with those sleepy brown eyes for a while now, and Izaac awkwardly nodded in his direction. At a loss for words, he did not speak, but that seemed to be enough for Markus.

“Izaac, Spencer, I expect you two to give Markus a tour of the grounds after he is rested and fed.”

Markus nodded, Spencer grinned, and Izaac stared on.

“A servant will lead you to your room,” he told Markus, “get settled and rest. When dinner comes I’ll send someone to fetch you.”

Markus nodded again, then turned to look for his guide. Before he could follow her, however, a dog—the spotted bitch—shoved her nose at his hands and wagged her tail. Markus smiled then, briefly, but he smiled, and ran his fingers over the dog’s head, scratching her behind her ears, and rubbing her back until she closed her eyes.

He seemed to realize that he was stalling, and left the dog. Spared her a last glance, but he turned away, dutifully following the girl to what would be his room.

At least this one wouldn’t have a problem with the hounds.


	7. Third Night: A Feast

Dinner proved to be an unusually grand affair. Izaac could not know if it was on purpose or not. But it happened to be extremely conveniently timed. He supposed Ivan wanted to impress their new guest; or maybe, he wanted to make Markus feel not-so-pressured by giving him full-out guests benefits. Either way, it did not help to make Izaac’s stomach suddenly grow large enough to fit the whole three courses.

First, there had been a salad with crisp lettuce leaves rubbed with garlic, and mixed with ripe olives, sliced radishes, small pieces of peeled tomatoes, diced celery, and chicory, topped with vinegar and parsley. The salad had been accompanied by steaming plates of mutton broth and hard bread. The second course came in the form of a golden roasted pheasant marinated in lime and rosemary, soaked in wine, and seasoned with black pepper and salt, accompanied by roasted and chopped potatoes and slices of crisp bread.

By the time dessert came, Izaac could hardly force himself to take another bite. Chervil tart topped with tomatoes, mushrooms, and black peppers, artfully arranged so each slice could bloat you until your stomach burst. Normally, Izaac would have declined the dishes by now, but under his father’s watchful gaze, he did not dare. 

Spencer had dug into his food eagerly enough, partaking with his usual zeal. His father, as always had eaten slowly and patiently, and Izaac had matched his pace. Markus seemed reluctant to eat, poking at his food and slicing small pieces to chew on for minutes on end, but he did eat. Eventually the salad was worn away by his teeth enough so a servant saw it fit to withdraw it, the mutton broth had been mostly drained, but the pheasant had only been half eaten, and only two pieces of the potatoes had been touched. When he thought no one was looking, he even passed a piece of pheasant to the hungry wolfhound that kept begging for scraps around the table. He was a dainty eater, Izaac had noticed. But he soldiered on and ate just the same so as to not offend.

When the dessert arrived however, it was clear Markus was at his end. He grimaced at his tart, and picked at it with his fork. He fished out a tomato and thoughtfully chewed on that, but it was a clear ploy to avoid actually eating the rest of it. Not that it had any chance of succeeding.

Throughout it all, Spencer spoke nonstop. It was almost amazing how he found the space to shove so much food into his mouth yet tell long embarrassing tales of the servants or great stories of valor about himself, but somehow, he did it. Their father interrupted but little, and Izaac tried to make himself as small as possible so as to avoid being dragged into the conversation. Markus struggled to pay attention, and for the most part, he did—probably because it was a good distraction as any from his food, thus an excuse not to eat it.

Izaac tried to tune most of his words out, but he did not always succeed. Mostly, Spencer would turn to him to demand confirmation on his words. _Right, Izaac? Don’t you remember, Izaac? Wasn’t that funny, Izaac? Right that it’s true, Izaac?_

None of his tales were untrue—that much Izaac could say, but they were not complete truths either. Spencer exaggerated or stretched the truth or added a detail to make the event seem grander and, thus, his tale, more entertaining. Oftentimes, he shot Izaac looks as he talked, as if to check that Izaac would not raise the alarm. 

And Izaac was tempted to—oh, so tempted to ridicule his brother, but he held his tongue. His father would not tolerate their games, not right now, and it would hardly impress Markus—who was too weary to want to deal with the two siblings. No, it was not the time.

Not to mention what Izaac saw last night was still on his mind and proving highly distracting.

Throughout the day he had argued endlessly with his own reasoning to convince himself that the figure in the night had not been looking in his direction. What was most likely was that it had been simply looking at the house itself. It made perfect sense—after all, it had been too dark, and Izaac had been looking outside just by the window’s corner. He could possibly not have been spotted.

But... he couldn’t shake off the feeling that it had _looked_ at him. If it was true that this was the man he had seen before, and that this man wasn’t human, then it wouldn’t be too implausible to assume that he had an amazing visual range, and that he could see extremely well in the dark. If he had come here to look for Izaac, then wouldn’t it make sense that he’d try to learn where Izaac slept?

Which jogged his memory—this morning both Teke and the stallion had been out of their stalls. They had not wandered too far away, but they stood together just under a thick oak tree, content to share in each other’s company. Jonah had been forced to chase after them for an hour before he finally managed to catch both horses and lead them away into their stalls, but neither horse had been harmed. No bite marks, at the very least.

So whatever it was—and if it _was_ the stallion’s owner—he had not come to take his horse, but he _did_ see it fit to release them both. The stalls had been unharmed, so the horses hadn’t forced their way out. They had been allowed to walk around on their own volition.

But why? Why free the two horses? As much as Izaac disliked to think of it, he could only presume it was the man in the forest that night. If that was so, and he was hunting after Izaac, than the only reason to let Izaac know that he had been found was to mark the stallion in some way. The fact that Teke had also been allowed to roam could not be a coincidence—he could be letting Izaac know that he knew Teke was his horse.

But to what end…? It all seemed to have an explanation once inspected separately, but shove them all together and none of it made sense.

“The horse looks like she’s been gilded with gold—father got her for Izaac for his birthday. It’s a really rare breed from the far Orient—hey, Izaac, what was the breed called? Teekie?”

Izaac frowned, his train of thought coming to an abrupt end, “What?”

“Your horse,” Spencer spared him an impatient look, pursing his lips in annoyance, “what’s the breed called?”

“Akhal-Teke.”

Markus look fascinated, his eyes growing wide in appreciation, “Is that possible? A golden horse?”

But before Izaac could answer, Spencer cut in, “Yeah, yeah. It’s a really impressive sight. Tomorrow, I’ll show you and—who knows—maybe I’ll even let you ride her.”

Izaac’s temper flared then, but before he could speak, Markus quietly put in, “Isn’t it your brother’s horse?”

“That’s right,” Izaac hissed, before Spencer could dismiss him once more, “she is. And that’s not entirely recommendable, my sweet brother. It may escape your notice, but she has a harpy’s temper and would sooner fling a hapless rider off her saddle than take two steps to amuse you.”

Spencer would not be dissuaded, “Oh? But I rode her all the way over here.” He grinned then, looking smug and victorious.

“And you mean to tell me she never once tried to be rid of you.”

The smile faltered, but only briefly, “Not even once.”

Now it was my turn to grin, “Then how about we test that tomorrow? If you can get on her back without tying her like cattle, then I’ll give her to you.”

His eyes widened, and judging by his hasty nods he was not thinking clearly—surely all the wine. “I’ll take you up on that.”

“_Izaac_,” his father hissed, but Izaac paid him no mind.

“Tomorrow at sunset.”

Markus looked like he wanted to say something, but whatever it was, he swallowed it down. His eyes flicked anxiously from Izaac’s face to Spencer’s, clearly at the edge of his seat.

“Tomorrow,” Spencer agreed with a smirk.


	8. Third Night: The Hare

It was well into the night when Izaac finally managed to tear himself away from the dining table. Two dogs followed him out, shoving their noses at his hand and licking the grease from his fingers. He allowed them, and made up his mind to lead the dogs away into the kennels, more for something to do than because he actually found it necessary to escort the animals. It would give him an excuse to walk and drink in some of the night’s air.

Outside, the chill surprised him. Neither of the dogs seemed to mind, but everyone else noticed, and they weren’t pleased. Hardly any servants wandered outside, and the ones he did see were huddled close and walking quickly. It would seem the relief from the ever-lasting heat would not be a welcome one.

As he turned the corner of the house and picked the path that would lead to the kennels he noticed something moving out of the corner of his eyes. His heart leapt to his throat, and he turned his head, eyes wide and searching. One of the dogs—the spotted cream-and-black bitch that had warmed up to Markus (surely an after-effect of all those table scraps and pets he had given her) shot off after the movement. The spotted golden male waited on alert for a few seconds before he, too, shot off after his companion.

The bitch reached it first, and whatever it was had little hope of fighting the dog. She dug her teeth into its flesh and shook it, turning to Izaac only after it was dead—

And it was nothing more than a hare.

She continued shaking the limp animal, and the male shoved his nose at her. They would have probably started fighting for the meal if Izaac hadn’t whistled after them. 

The bitch seemed to hesitate, but she finally moved away from the male and headed towards Izaac, the hare tightly clutched in her maw. The male nosed after her and made several grabs for the hare, but failed to get his teeth in the prize. Once she stood before Izaac, she held up the hare, tail wagging. Izaac smiled at that, reaching over to take the animal from her—

“They’re incredibly well trained dogs.”

Izaac whirled around, both dogs turned to face the voice and snarled.

Right there, leaning against the trunk of a thick tree with his arms crossed over his shoulder, stood the man with the unusually bright green eyes.

Automatically, Izaac tried to reach for a weapon—a bow, a sword, but there was nothing there but the clothes over his back. He had never been one to carry weapons around in his own home.

“Borzáya, Correct?” he acted as if he didn’t notice the two dogs—the tension in Izaac’s shoulders, “I never thought to see them this far from Russia.”

Izaac took a step back, his eyes trained at the man, his thoughts racing. Not even the dogs had noticed he was there, but how? Had they been too distracted by the hare? But even so, it wasn’t very likely. These could spot a vampire from a league away. Did that mean the man wasn’t a vampire? But what other explanation was there?

He frowned when Izaac didn’t speak. “Not very welcoming towards guests, I see,” he tilted his head to the side, eyes fixed on Izaac.

“What do you want?” Izaac hissed. Another step back, the dogs snarled louder.

The look the man gave Izaac was full of pity, “Still don’t know?” when Izaac didn’t reply, he shook his head, “Never mind, then. Thank you for caring for my stallion—I see he gets along great with your mare. Don’t they make a happy couple?”

Again, silence. This time, the man smiled.

“I must be so rude as to ask you to tend him for a few more days, however. For now, I must part.”

He made as if to turn away, but stopped, craning his head around to look at Izaac. “I’m glad to see you’re still alive,” he hummed.

And with that, he ducked behind the tree and disappeared.


	9. Fourth Night: The Bet

The afternoon sun beat down on Izaac’s brow, causing a trickle of sweat to make its course down his face. Annoyed, Izaac wiped at it, rubbing the sweat off his sleeve, before setting the arm down against the wooden fence once more. The sun had been bright and hot the whole day and, so far, there were no promises of letting out. Soon, it’d rain, he knew that much, but it would not be today. The sky was a perfect blue bowl overhead with hardly a cloud in sight. Very little wind stirred the grass, and the sun shone with nary an obstacle.

To either side of Izaac stood Dorian and Markus, leaning against the fence that enclosed the one of the horse’s grazing pastures. Dorian had overheard from a kitchen maid of the bet between the two siblings and had harried Izaac for the details as soon as Izaac was up and about, sometime after midday. Markus had been dragged in by a storm of Spencer, though Izaac suspected it was not completely unwillingly. He must be curious about the horse that looked to be spun of gold for one, and on the other hand, he must be interested about how the current events would unfold.

Spencer stood out in the field now, eagerly eyeing a very disgruntled Teke. The mare had refused to allow anyone but Izaac near her, and later, very reluctantly, Jonah. At first, Izaac had told Spencer to saddle her himself, but when the horse nearly kicked him in the head for sneaking behind her, Izaac had decided to at least get her saddle, bit, and bridle in order before earning his brother a few broken bones. The moaning would surely be endless then.

Between Izaac and Jonah, they had gotten the horse ready, and led her outside so Spencer could start his wild goose chase. Which, so far, gave no results.

He had tried sneaking quietly, he had tried rushing at the horse for a time, he even tried bribing her with carrots, oats, an apple, and, when things grew desperate, some grass, but she had paid him no mind. Whenever he drew close, she took a few steps away, and tried to graze. When Spencer rushed at her, she trotted away, eyeing him warily. Once she had giving a sudden loud exasperated neigh, but when that heeded no results she continued as she was before. Snorting in displeasure and pawing the ground, ears pinched back.

Jonah never stood far away. He eyed the spectacle before him with a smile hovering over his lips. It was clear he was incredibly amused by the whole ordeal, and even clapped loudly to startle the mare into moving away from Spencer when he drew closer than usual.

“Would you _quit_ that?” Spencer had hissed then, but Jonah had only grinned in response.

“Who is he?” Markus asked, turning his head face Izaac.

“Jonah, our stable hand.”

“Well, one of them,” Dorian butted in, “but he’s the youngest and the most busy around the stables—if you ever need help with a horse, he’s the person to ask,” he leaned over the fence to look at Markus, smiling. “He’s my cousin.”

Markus nodded, and turned to look at the field again, eyes following Jonah’s figure as he walked, following Spencer.

Dorian frowned, but Izaac shook his head. He had already figured out that his dear cousin did not seem to like to speak—more of a listener, that one. It would be rather pointless to argue about rudeness or lack of, when he had done nothing worse than turn already brief replies briefer.

Teke snorted, trotting away from Spencer then, and heading straight for Izaac. She slowed once she stood before them, her golden coat shimmering, and shoved her nose at Izaac. Izaac chuckled, Dorian drew back with a gasp, and Markus stood frozen in place, wide-eyed. 

It was clear the mare was tired of the shenanigans, at the very least. Izaac stroked her nose, and she nickered softly, pushing her head forward, and doing all she could to draw nearer to Izaac save climb the fence. 

Her ears twitched, her nostrils flared, and she whipped around fast enough to catch Spence mid-step. Surprised, Spencer yelped, and the horse snorted, trotting off before he could draw nearer. Spencer broke into a run, chasing after her, and she spun around to put Jonah between herself and Spencer. Jo giggled, saying something Izaac couldn’t quite catch. Spencer hissed something back, then shot around Jonah and straight onto the horse. She trotted off, craning her head around to glare at him, a storm of Spencer’s curses following her along.

The little show managed to catch the attention of wandering servants. A maid leaned over and shouted a gross suggestion at Spencer who visibly reddened; another man roared with laughter, and his companions soon followed. Soon, they were all shouting suggestions and discreet insults after Spencer—Dorian joining in on the voices.

Shaking with anger, Spencer turned to Jonah, hissing something in his ear. Jonah said something back, to which Spencer answered with wild gestures towards the peeved horse, and the crowd gathered around the pasture. Jonah hesitated, then nodded, chewing on his bottom lip. Spencer hissed something else, and the boy nodded once more.

With their plan agreed upon, they both set to walk towards the mare. Teke eyed them both warily, snorting and moving away with a flick of her tail. They both separated then, angling her away and off into a corner. The horse did not notice what they were up to quick enough, and when she did notice, it was much too late to edge away from them. She snorted, pawed the ground, and whinnied at them both but to no avail. Izaac frowned; Dorian held his breath; Markus leaned over the fence more as if to peer at them more closely.

Once Spencer stood too close for comfort, she tried to bolt for it, eyes wide. Spencer snatched blindly, but his fingers fell upon the reins, forcing the horse to spin around uselessly by her tender mouth, nearly taking Spencer’s arm with her. She snorted, throwing her head back, but Spencer twisted the reins around his hand—making Jo flinch—and yanked.

She whinnied in protest, but gave away under the sharp tugs. She pawed and paced, but failed to pull away—her mouth hung open. Izaac’s blood boiled as he watched on—did Spencer just hurt his horse?

But before he could shout out for Spencer to stop, the crowds’ jeers turned from awed, to horror. A maid pointed towards the opposite corner of the pasture, and the heads of the servants soon followed. A man’s eyes widened, and a maid screeched after Spencer and Jonah. Dorian, Izaac, and Markus turned their heads in unison then—following the maid’s slender finger to—

The jet black stallion was rushing at Jonah, Spencer, and Teke at full gallop. _He’s fast_, was the only thing Izaac could marvel at as the beast moved. As soon as he noticed something was wrong, Jonah shot for the fence, throwing himself over it and landing smoothly at the other side. Spencer, however, reacted much slower, and by the time he turned around, the furious stallion was practically on him.

He yelped, released Teke’s reins, and ran around her. Clearly not forgetting the fault done to her, the mare tried to kick back, but Spencer ducked aside just fast enough to save his life. At least, from one horse.

The stallion slowed to a trot, but it was clear that he did not consider his job done. He rushed at Spencer, forcing Spencer to cower back, running away from the fence. Izaac spotted Jonah slamming his face into his hands and slowly shaking it from side to side. Good: Izaac wasn’t the only one who thought his brother was an idiot.

The stallion rushed at Spencer again, and someone in the crowd screamed. Luckily—or unluckily—he threw himself aside at the last minute, and the horse flew over the grass instead of trampling the offender under his hooves. Spencer gasped, stumbled to his feet then broke into a run—heading straight for Izaac. His eyes were wide, and he was yelling something, but what it was, Izaac couldn’t say.

The stallion slowed and spun around, taking only a moment to locate Spencer then launched after him in a wild gallop. The crowd screamed a mix of suggestions, insults, and just loud noises, but the horse was oblivious to it all—his eyes were fixed on his prey.

He did not slow down as Spencer drew closer still to the fence.

Dorian must’ve noticed what would happen, because just as Spence reached forward, he tackled Izaac down, taking Markus with him in a ridiculous domino effect. Markus yelped, Izaac hissed a curse, and then they slammed into the ground, knocking the air from their lungs.

Spencer hopped over the fence, nearly stumbling down once he landed, and turned around to look at the horse. His eyes widened then, and he turned to face forward and shot off running.

The horse’s hooves beat against the ground—Izaac realized it would crash into the fence. It did not, however—instead is soared clean over it, sticking such a perfect landing that Izaac thought would bring tears to Jonah’s eyes.

_This is why we don’t keep stallions here_.

Gingerly, Izaac pushed Dorian off him. Dorian didn’t even protest—his mouth hung open, and his eyes were wide, following the stallions trail. Carefully, Izaac climbed off Markus, who groaned, but made no effort to stand. He was looking at Spencer and the horse, clearly amazed by this turn of events.

Spencer nearly crashed into a scullery maid, and they both spun around for a few moments before, with a screech, he pushed her into the stallion’s way—clearly hoping the homicidal horse would be deterred by such a frail obstacle.

It wasn’t—it leaped over the fallen maid, another smooth jump with a flawless landing, and trotted off after Spencer. In the back of his mind, Izaac realized this horse wanted to run Spencer over, but couldn’t really be bothered to feel very alarmed about it.

Some servants regained their wits and shot off after the horse and screaming young man. Izaac recognized the kennel master, the blacksmith’s helper, and one of their stable hands joining the fray. In the house, maids pressed their faces to the windows to watch the show in rapt fascination. Next to him, Markus finally climbed to his feet.

“The horse is going to kill him.”

“We can only hope to be so lucky,” Izaac said softly, Dorian nodded sagely next to him.

There came a shout from somewhere behind them, and Izaac turned just in time to see Jonah astride Teke. He pointed wildly at something, and urged the weary mare ahead. A maid and young man managed to wrestle the gate open for the horse and her rider to run past. They turned to face the furious stallion, and shot off after it—Izaac noticed Jonah had a length of hemp rope on him.

At least they had some reliable help around here.

Markus’ eyes were fixed on Jonah as they cornered the stallion and managed to wrestle a rope over the disgruntled horse’s head. Spencer was on the floor, yelling and pointing madly to the servants who, mostly, ignored him.


	10. Fourth Night: Empty Stalls

“I think I shat myself.”

Spencer walked bow-legged, clutching at a shoulder he had nearly dislocated, and squinting at those surrounding him. He had already told his tale twice in the time it took them to walk the two horses back to the stables, and he had flashed a goofy grin at everyone who expressed amazement or even mild curiosity. A maid even gasped out loud, clutching at her face and commemorating Spencer for his bravery.

“That’d explain the smell,” came Dorian’s voice to Izaac’s left.

Before Spencer could reply, Izaac cut in. “If you could run that fast, why did you nearly get us killed back in the caverns?”

Spencer had an answer prepared, as always,“I broke my ankle.”

“It wasn’t even bruised,” snarled Jonah. He was deeply upset with Spencer for mindlessly yanking at Teke’s reins earlier, and Izaac felt like this was not anger that would pass. Jonah took his duties seriously, and whatever damage done to the horses under his care he tended to take as a personal offense. For that matter, Izaac was peeved with Spencer as well—he did not honestly expect Spencer to grow so desperate as to risk wounding the mare.

Teke had turned out to be mostly fine—there had been no blood in her mouth at least, but Izaac would take no chances. The first thing he did was remove the bridle from her. Spencer had given him panicked looks then, but Izaac was simply taking no chances—the bit must have already chaffed at her mouth enough as it was. It looked like he would be using a hackamore for a while.

The horses followed Izaac meekly enough, but it had been clear from the start that the stallion did not like it one bit. He had yanked at the rope, paced, tossed his head back, and snorted all the while. The one time Spencer made the mistake to draw too close, the horse had craned his head around and tried to get a bite out of Spencer’s hand. Spencer yelped and drew back and did not dare step near the horse after that. A good thing too, because Izaac noticed he had a hoof half-cocked, prepared to kick out

“How did it get out?” asked Markus from somewhere to Dorian’s side, his voice low and soft.

“Who knows,” it was Jonah the one to answer, “he was safely tucked away in his stall, but guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

Izaac hesitated once he stood before the stable’s entrance, eyeing the stallion warily. If it had escaped its stall, it was unlikely that it’d go along meekly. The stallion, however, seemed considerably at ease, he shoved his nose at Teke, nibbling and nuzzling her shoulder. For her part, Teke did not even flinch at the curious stallion, her head hung low, and she eyed her surroundings warily, but did not pace or protest.

“C’mon,” Jonah hissed impatiently, turning to look back at Izaac, “I want to see what that devil did to the stall.”

Dorian, having snuck farther ahead, whistled in surprise once he caught sight of the stall. With his curiosity piqued, Izaac urged the two horses along.

The stall was at least, mostly unharmed. Hay had been thrown every which way, and there were scuffs in the wood from the horse’s hooves, presumably. The latch of the stall, however, had been torn clean off—only half of it clung from the stall’s door, twisted and misshapen. There were scuff marks on the door, and the wood from it had been bent—either from a kick, or because the stallion chose to ram it down.

“You’ve been keeping him cooped in here, haven’t you?” Spencer sneered, drawing closer to peer at the broken latch.

“No,” Jonah didn’t even deem it necessary to turn around as he spoke. Instead, he bent over the latch, inspecting it with a frown, “But I figured your idiocy would draw in a crowd so I thought it proper to leave the stallion in the stall while Teke kicked your head in. The last thing we needed was an idiot kid to draw close to the ‘pretty black horsie’ while everyone was distracted and get its fingers bitten off.”

Spencer opened his mouth to protest, but Markus cut in with a, “With good reason, considering how fences don’t seem to mean much to it.”

Jonah shot Markus a grateful look; Spencer looked surprised. It seemed he didn’t think the dear cousin would raise a word against him. His surprise soon turned to anger, and the look he shot Markus then promised a difficult week ahead for him.

“Be it as it may,” Dorian spoke loud and suddenly, “the horses need food and drink, and Teke needs to get her mouth looked at. What are we doing with the stallion?”

“There’s two more empty stalls,” Jo straightened up, turning to face Izaac then, “I’ll go prep out one of ‘em.”

“I’ll help,” Markus cut in, making Jonah smile. He nodded, and gestured for Markus to follow him. Izaac watched them go, disappearing into the back of the stables to gather the tools. Dorian watched them too—a frown appearing over his brow. Normally, he would have been the one volunteering to help his cousin, and he didn’t seem to like the sound of being replaced.

“Help me with Teke,” Izaac told him. Dorian turned, looked at Izaac blankly for a second before nodding.

“Hey, what about me?” Spencer’s voice was shrill.

As if in response, the stallion launched himself forward, causing Spencer to shriek and leap back. The horse snorted, pawing the ground and looking ready to resume his hunt.

“You,” Dorian hissed, “keep away from the horses.”

“B-But—”

“He’s right,” said Izaac curtly, “you’ve caused enough trouble as it is. Go be a good boy and run off to tell father how cruel we’ve been with you—I know you must be dying to whine.”

His expression was livid—his face turning a curious shade of red. He opened his mouth, then closed it tight, squaring his jaw, hands clenching to fists. He did not say anything more, however, but stomped off. To send him off, the stallion tried lounging at him again, but Spencer did not yelp this time.

He did, however, hurry his steps—nearly tripping over his feet in his haste to be away from the horse. 


	11. Fourth Night: The Lecture

Izaac stood in the middle of a spiraling carpet with fleur-de-lis design and twirling branches and flowers in various shades of browns with splashed of dark red. The large room had a homely feel to it—a room that saw much use. Large clunky furniture of dark oak took up most of the room’s space, making it appear smaller than it actually was. Affixed to the wall to Izaac’s left was a map of the Mediterranean—showing off the whole of Europe, the north of Africa, and part of Russia and the lower eastern Asia. The map was a gorgeously designed thing—something that Izaac had always admired often as a child. It named cities with a stylistic calligraphy, and the map itself was decorated with pictures of wild creatures—mermaids off the coast of Spain, and a green serpent with its scales shimmering with hints of blue threw its head back and roared near Greece. A huge sphinx held a screaming man under her paw in Egypt, and a giant white bear watched over its land of ice and snow in the north.  
  
Under the map was a squat armoire—longer than it was tall, filled with endless trinkets and oddities from their travels. On top of it was a random assortment of books—both new and old, and a delicate-looking spyglass made of bronze with its glass broken. To the left of the thickset door of dark wood that stood behind Izaac there would be another armoire—taller than the one under the map, and filled to the brim with glasswork and tiny statues featuring anything from a simple cross to a rearing dragon. Over and to the door’s right, the wall would be filled with countless paintings—none of them portraits from any of the inhabitants that had ever been in the house. No, instead they featured landscapes—distant castles, and green fields, a labyrinth with its hedges brimming with flowers, and the painting of a wicked creature with the head of an eagle, the slim body of a gazelle, and the wicked paws of a bear holding a frightened maiden under its gaze.  
  
To Izaac’s right hand were bookshelves—extending from floor to ceiling, and piled high with tomes and even scrolls of all kinds. What didn’t fit in the library, and his father found of need would be there—oftentimes the books were changed around, but there were always those that stayed. Directly in front of Izaac stood a huge desk piled high with all manners of books and papers. To the desk’s left, there was a small stand, and on top of it, a globe of the earth, with a trace work of latitudes and longitudes. Behind the desk stood a large window that dominated most of that wall—outside, night had fallen. The moon was a perfect crescent, and the stars showed bright and many. From where he stood, Izaac could see the stables and the horse’s pastures, the fields and the crops next to the stables—behind them, the forest that surrounded most of the estate.  
  
It was a shame he had to spend such a beautiful night under his father’s glares.  
  
“I knew you were a scoundrel, but this is going too far, Izaac.”  
  
Again with these vague accusing statements that Izaac could not fully comprehend. Ever since Izaac had walked in through that door, he had heard nothing but then with nary an explanation. “I’m afraid I don’t fully understand, father. Spencer was fully aware of how ill-tempered the mare was from the start. If you’re upset because he didn’t manage to win a little playful bet, then I’m afraid my horse may just be as disappointing as I in this. If it’s something else, then be clearer.”  
  
Ivan glared, it was clear he was not even the least bit amused, “You called the servants to see your brother ridiculed.”  
  
Oh, of all the inane things I could be accused of...  
  
“Hardly,” Izaac snapped, “after dinner I took the dogs to the kennels then went straight to bed. I did not talk to a soul—not even the dogs. Though, if it’s that you fear, then I’ll dispose of your concerns here and now—dogs are not known for gossiping.”  
  
Ivan was livid now—his ears were bright red, and his hands were clenched to fist over the desk. “I will not have you mock and disrespect me like this, Izaac—do not think this will go unpunished,” he paused then, letting his words sink in. Behind Izaac, Spencer tried to bite back a giggle. “Then pray tell, how did half the household end up there?”  
  
“How should I know?” Why were they arguing this? “Maybe a nosy kitchen maid overheard while peeking through the door. Though, if you truly care for my opinion, I’d say the fault lies with your youngest son. He is rather fond of talking. Tell a single maid, and they all know.”  
  
“Your little friend was there...”  
  
Izaac rolled his eyes, “Obviously, that one lives with his nose practically shoved in my arse. He’d had found his way to the stables sooner or later.”  
  
Spencer must have felt what was coming did not bode well for him, because he suddenly spoke up, “He’s right about that father—the maids never know to mind their own business. One tells the other maid, the other tells the cook, the cook tells a stable hand, the stable hand tells the blacksmith’s apprentice, and it all goes around before you can even blink.”  
  
Ivan seemed to consider that, frowning and pursing his lips as he thought. He seemed to have made up his mind about something, because he nodded to himself before turning his attention back to his sons.  
  
“And why did you free Spencer’s horse?”  
  
“Spencer’s horse?” a feeling of foreboding spread all the way to his fingertips; an idea started to form in his mind...  
  
“Do not play dumb with me,” his father growled.  
  
“The black stallion,” Spencer added in mildly.  
  
_Tell the stable boy you need a new mount, if none suit your fancy, then try going into the village._  
  
Oh, no, no, no, no, no. How was this happening? How had Izaac failed to see this happening? It was obvious, was it not? His brother would wander to the stables, he’d see the handsome black stallion, coat shimmering, in its stall, and he’d maybe ask a stable hand about it. One would say it was Izaac that had brought the horse in, and Spencer would grin. He’d do it to spite Izaac, if anything. Though, there was no doubt that the stallion himself was quite the price.  
  
“That stallion is not Spencer’s. It’s not even mine. It’s not even one of our horses.”  
  
His father looked confused, and he squinted at Izaac as if he had grown a new head. “What are you talking about? Spencer brought the stallion from the village, paid good coin for it too, and it’s a magnificent mount, or so I thought. It’s a shame we’ll have to geld it.”  
  
Why did the fates treat him so? Why had they given him such an idiotic brother? Why couldn’t he have a sister instead? At least then there’d be a nice pair of tits to look at as she talked. It would be useless to argue with Spencer right there and then, so he’d have to try to explain to his father.  
  
“I’m afraid that’s a lie. Back at the caverns, you’ll recall, Spencer took my mount and his own got killed. I got that horse from the village near there—borrowed.” He let that sink in, watching his father’s frown deepen, “I gave the man some coins for the inconvenience, and he told me he’d come back for the horse in a week’s time,” or so, Izaac hoped. He was already dragging lies after lies from his sleeve for that man’s stallion, and he wasn’t even completely sure why, but at the very least, he wouldn’t let Spencer have it. “So you see, father, the horse is not mine, and it’s certainly not Spencer’s. It has to be returned—ah, preferably, just as it was. Not. Gelded.”  
  
The frown left Izaac, and turned to the cowering figure behind him. Spencer smiled nervously as his father’s eyes fell from him, and he wrung a hand as if that would spare him from the questioning look. “Is this true, Spencer?”  
  
“Ah, I, well, ah, w-who knows,” he had the grace to shrug then, his eyes turning to look at the map on the wall, and speaking to it, “I w-went to the village, and I swore I got a g-good horse, but I also drunk a bit, so I might have gotten the beasts confused in the m-morning.”  
  
“You must learn to hold your drink better, son.”  
  
Spencer smiled, looking embarrassed, a hand scratching the back of his head, and nodded.  
  
“I see,” Ivan sounded thoughtful; he looked at his hands, frowning, “so the stallion is not ours. That still does not explain why you freed it.”  
  
“I did no such thing,” although, that he found it to be unpleasant was another thing entirely—he just wished the stallion had caught Spencer and trampled him under its hooves, “you can ask the stable hands—or even our cousin, Markus, if you wish. The door was kicked out and the latch broken—the beast may have grown panicked by the noise of the crowd and hacked at the door to get away.”  
  
At the very least, he seemed to be batting aside everything thrown at him fairly well, his father appeared to believe that one, at least, though Izaac himself did not believe it. The stallion seemed to have one clear goal in mind when it got free. “I’ll have to ask the stable hands in the morning then.”  
  
Well, wishful thinking. At least he looked distracted enough—maybe he had forgotten about the punishment he was supposed to give Izaac. Knowing his father, however, Izaac highly doubted it.  
  
He fixed Izaac under his sharp gaze, “I will inquire more on the situation, but do not think you are innocent in this.”  
  
Izaac had no choice but to accept that, trying not to glower at his father. Behind him, Spencer breathed a sigh of relief. Ivan, at least, did not blame his fragile younger son of what he had brought to himself.  
  
“There is another manner we must discuss,” he sat up on his chair, turning his eyes to nod Spencer forward. Spencer seemed to be reluctant to do so, but took slow steps forward, to stand next to Izaac. He looked edgy and nervous; ready to shoot off at a moment’s notice. “We must evaluate your cousin, and judge how much we have to teach him. As such, we will start tomorrow night. Izaac, you will go with your brother, and teach him what you two know. You know where to take him; the trip had already been arranged, you leave tomorrow at night. Any questions?”  
  
Spencer shook his head, but Izaac stepped forward, “And if he does not wish to participate?”  
  
Spencer opened his mouth as if to say something, but Ivan cut him off.  
  
“Then stay until he does, or until morning. It is none of my concern how you two deal with him, but do make sure to deal with him. He must get used to the idea of killing sooner or later—sooner, rather than later is preferred.”  
  
“Will someone be there to wait for us?”  
  
“Yes—Roderick’s son. You know him?”  
  
Izaac didn’t know the son—only the father, but he knew what to expect. “No, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”  
  
His father nodded then, “Good. Let your cousin know of your trip tomorrow—let him know he has no choice in this. He is under my care, and as long as he remains as such, he goes by my rules. Is that understood?”  
  
Spencer nodded, Izaac did not answer, but his father did not care. He turned back to his papers, picking up a quill, and looked up to peer at them between narrowed eyes, before speaking once more. “That is all then, off you go—ah, nearly forgot. Izaac, your punishment. Spencer will ride your horse, you will find another.”  
  
Izaac had to hold back a grin, he nodded solemnly, and offered a small bow before departing.  
  
He had an idea of what would be his horse. And how well Spencer would be riding the little mare.


	12. Fourth Night: Agreement

The night had proved to be a test to Izaac’s patience, and in the end, it was all he could do to climb the steps, and into the hallway that lead to his room’s door. Once inside, he lighted a single candle by the small table that crouched under the window, pulled an arm chair towards the corner, and went to his bookshelf to pick a book. He honestly had nothing in mind; he simply wanted something to read to get his mind off things. After careful consideration, he picked up one of the books that vociferated about vampires and their dangers, and went to the window.

Outside, it was another quiet night. Workers still tottered to and fro, and he saw a man leading one of the draft horses towards the stables—it occurred to him that this would be the day’s last stragglers, and they were working towards tuckering out for the night. Soon, the fields would be completely deserted save a few dogs and birds.

He was about to sit down when he caught sign of sudden movement. Curious, he stood once more, pressing his nose against the window and squinting into the darkness.

He stood there—the stallion’s owner. He was alone, and standing in the middle of the path that lead the coaches into the stable. His head was tilted up—looking into Izaac’s window. When he caught sight of Izaac he waved, trying to catch Izaac’s attention.

Startled, Izaac pushed back from the window, feeling his eyes grow wide. He felt his stomach drop to his knees and uneasiness to rise in waves. He hadn’t forgotten about the vampire—not one bit. But, for some reason, he hadn’t expected to see him tonight.

On a whim, he snuffed out the candle to be able to see better outside, and leaned towards the window once more. The man still stood there, though this time, he made no move to indicate he had seen Izaac—his head was still tilted up, his eyes were still fixed to Izaac’s window.

Izaac knew he should ignore the man—pretend he didn’t see him. A vampire this close to home could only mean trouble, but he was also deeply curious. The man had made no move to hurt him, yet he still continued to drop by every night. Surely, if he wanted to cause Izaac harm he’d have done so already? 

He didn’t even know his name, and he supposed, at the very least, he should tell the man to take his stallion with him or risk Spencer gelding it.

His mind made up, Izaac gingerly signaled for the man to stay where he was, before retreating into his room. He went to his dresser and picked up a thin silver dagger as a precaution, hiding it within the folds of his shirt. Carefully, he picked his way out of his room and into the hallway, wary of being seen by Spencer or even Markus. Once he confirmed the hallway was deserted, he headed down the stairs, trying to look casual about it. He’d go into the kitchens he decided—if the cook was there, he’d ask for something to eat, to look as if he wanted a simple nightly snack.

He snuck into the doors that lead into the kitchen with no accidents. But now that he stood over the door, he hesitated. A look over his shoulder confirmed there was no one watching him, but the uneasiness did not leave him. With little choice, he closed his eyes and pushed the door open.

“Ah, young Izaac!” one of the cook’s assistance greeted him as he walked in, smiling wide.

The kitchens were mostly empty—only the ratty young man that had greeted him, and a slightly older, burlier assistant stood in the kitchens. The burly man seemed to be preparing bread for the next day, while the younger man stood leaning against the kitchen counter, a piece of bread clutched in his hands.

Izaac offered an embarrassed smile, carefully closing the door behind him, and stepping into the kitchen. “I was hoping for a snack.”

“There’s some bread and cheese,” answered the younger man brightly, “or apples. Unless you wanted something specific?”

_That’d take too much time,_ he wanted to say, but instead tried, “An apple would be good enough.”

The young man nodded, turning to look for the apple and releasing a friendly streak of chatter as he did so. Izaac only paid enough attention to keep his eyes on the young man, but did not even care to try to reply to him. Once the fruit was retrieved, he stepped forward to take it. To the young man’s surprise, Izaac walked past him then, heading for the small hallway that would lead to the small storages and, from there, one of the back door’s, taking a bite of the apple as he stepped into the hallway.

Only crates and spider webs inside the storage that held the casks of sugar, and some recent crops that had been retrieved to be cooked and served in the next few days, and a few gutted, skinned, and salted meat that would serve for food soon enough. The room was small and cramped with no windows, but there was a small door that led into the outside. Usually, it was locked, but the keys always hung suspended over the door. Tonight was no different. Izaac reached for the keys, and turned the lock, cautiously pushing the door open and quickly taking a step back from the entrance.

He held his breath and waited. The seconds ticked by with nothing but the sound of Izaac’s breath interrupting the quiet. Had the man left? Had he not seen the door being opened? Izaac didn’t want to step outside, it was one thing to be daring, another suicidal. Inside the house he’d be safe, at the very least.

Just when Izaac thought that the man had left, the scuffle of a boot interrupted his thoughts.

“Not going to invite me in?” the voice was low.

“Not in this lifetime,” he shuffled forward, trying to keep away from the door, but wanting to see the man, he peered into the darkness but saw no one. “Where are you?”

An arm was waved—he was leaning against the wall next to the door. Izaac felt his stomach turn then—if he had stepped out the man would have pounced on him easily enough. “I just want to see you,” the man put in mildly, a note of disappointment in his voice—Izaac could practically see him pouting.

“Then step in front of the door, you can do that, right?”

No reply. The man seemed to be considering that, though why hesitate so much, Izaac wasn’t sure. Since no one was speaking, Izaac turned his attention back to his apple.

“How do I know you won’t stake me?”

A good, valid point. Izaac had already considered the possibility, but in the end, dismissed it. The man wasn’t being threatening in the least—Izaac would give him a chance. “With what? The keys? You caught me in my bed clothes.”

Again, silence. Whatever possibilities he was thinking of, did not seem to make good of Izaac.

Finally, he stepped forward—most of his features obscured by the night, but indisputably it was him. A sense of relief flooded through Izaac then, small, but sure. The man seemed to carry nothing but the clothes in his back, and his hands were loose at his sides.

He smiled once he caught sight of Izaac, “You weren’t lying about the stake, at least. Are you sure I can’t come in.”

“Of course you can’t,” but the man’s grin just turned larger, “now may I know why you keep pestering me every night?”

“To see you, of course.”

Right. He had already said that. Izaac chewed that over, decided he didn’t completely mind it. “Is that the only reason you come over?”

He looked amused, “Well, no, nothing so chaste. I _want_ you.”

At least he was refreshingly direct, “I don’t even know your name.”

His smile widened at that, “Ah, yes, a thousand apologies. Call me Apep.”

_Apep_. His eyes glittered in the dark—unusually bright green, sharp and attentive. The name sounded familiar, though it took a moment for Izaac to remember why. Egyptian mythology—a giant serpent that chased the sun god across the skies, wasn’t it? A huge demon with glittering red eyes—pictures of a snake rearing from the waters to attack a boat. Izaac wondered how old Apep was, and if that was really his name—it seemed unlikely. Not that in the end it mattered.

“What’s yours?” he looked curious, eyes regarding him carefully.

“Don’t you already know it?”

“I want to hear it from you.”

Izaac hesitated, but he saw nothing wrong with that. Humor the vampire, figure out his exact motives for waltzing in on his home like this. “Izaac,” he said, looking up to meet Apep’s eyes.

“Izaac,” he repeated the name slowly, smiling as if just the sound of it was a delight, “is there no chance you’ll come out here?” He shook his head; a flash of disappointment crossed Apep’s face. “I wouldn’t hurt you,” his voice was low and soft.

“Can’t trust it, I’m afraid,” he almost flinched at the look of hurt Apep flashed him. He took another bite of the apple. “I agreed to meet with you for a reason. You’ll have to pick up your stallion soon.”

“Why? He did not hurt your brother,” he was defensive, though Izaac was not completely sure why, “and if you asked me, he deserved it. That’s no way to treat a horse.”

Izaac wanted to ask how exactly he came about the information, but quickly dismissed the notion—it was unlikely Apep would answer a direct question. “My brother had an eye on your stallion, I’m afraid. And with all the trouble it’s caused, I doubt my father will tolerate him much longer.”

“I can’t take him tonight...”

“You have a few days.”

He must have been hasty in his reply, because Apep suddenly looked up, “Do you have need of him?”

No beating around the bush with that one, “Just for tomorrow,” he shrugged, trying to dismiss any concerns the vampire might have, “my father has seen it fit to give Spencer my horse for the time being as punishment.”

He frowned, “Do you need horses then?”

“Just for my brother.”

“Aaah, so that was the horse that got torn to shreds.”

Izaac did not want to ask how he knew that either, though, if he had been on the area, he could have seen it firsthand, he supposed. “That’s right. Will you be able to then?”

Apep was looking away from him—at something to his right. “Maybe,” his eyes flicked to Izaac once more, “for a kiss.”

Izaac blanched at his forwardness. The vampire leaned in as forward as he could without a hair of his actually being inside the room, a grin on his face. When Izaac did not immediately react, the smile widened.

“No.”

He pouted then, but it was clear he was still amused, “I won’t bite.”

“Do you try to romance all your victims?”

He didn’t even bat an eye, “Just you.”

Izaac wasn’t even aware of what made him step forward, but suddenly his face was mere inches from Apep’s. It occurred to him that, perhaps, meeting the vampire’s eyes was a bad idea from the start, but he wasn’t all that sure he really cared. He stopped before him, trying to look anywhere but at Apep’s face. His fingers twitched to grab the knife, but the hand did not move. Apep waited, watching him, trying to judge what he would do.

Izaac lifted his face to look into Apep’s eyes. He was smiling there, but standing completely and utterly still.

“Not in your dreams, my sweet,” Izaac whispered, before turning away. Trying not to laugh at the vampire’s frown, and gingerly stepping away from the door—he took another bite of his apple, and avoided speaking by concentrating on chewing.

“I’ll come again tomorrow,” when he spoke again, he was smiling.

“I won’t be here tomorrow,” Izaac said, though he wasn’t sure why, “when I return, it will probably be too early for you.”

He looked disappointed, but nodded all the same. “Can I come visit you after, then?”

“Sure,” Izaac smiled, “but not in the house. You’ll wait outside and not come in.”

“You’re stubborn,” he took a step back from the door then, “but no matter. I’ll anxiously await.”

Izaac smiled, nodded, and turned away, but before he reached the hallway, Apep’s voice floated up from the door yet again. “Goodnight, Izaac, and do take care tomorrow.”

“You too,” Izaac answered before he could even think. When the words finally registered in his mind, it was too late to snatch them back.


	13. Fifth Night: Assigned

The sky was overcast and grey when they finally gathered in front of the stables. Izaac squinted at the horizon, dragging deep breaths into his lungs, but he could not detect a single trace of the coming rain. The temperature was fairly low, and the one still stirred the grass. He doubted it would rain, but still the doubt nagged at him. They’d be force to take shelter under the trees by the side of the roads then, and who knew when it would let out enough for them to travel.

Foreboding weather or not, they were leaving. That much was obvious—his father had not budged the slightest bit, and was eager to send them off. In the end, Izaac had little choice but to gather everyone at the appointed time, as far away as he could from listening ears.

Spencer had arrived with Markus. Their attitudes were almost comically opposite. Spencer looked energetic, he smiled and chattered non-stop about whatever he could land his eyes on. Markus looked weary and reserved—it was clear he was not looking forward to what would come, and had gotten little sleep as a result. His hands were crossed over his chest, and he looked sullenly back at the house, as if eager for a chance to bolt.

Awaiting by the stable’s main entrance stood Dorian and Jonah. Dorian was frowning, and he hovered close to his cousin, and moved whenever Jonah moved. Jonah looked more relaxed, but every now and then he’d cast anxious glances at Markus, some of which Markus met.

Finally, Ivan arrived, he was gruff and business-like, and barely spared Markus a single glance. In his hand was clutched a simple cane of dark wood ending with the hissing head of a snake with black onyx eyes, in the other rested a simple slim book that Izaac couldn’t recognize.

“You will be staying on the village for the night,” he said with a slow nod, “I fully expect you to do what has been asked of you,” as he spoke, his eyes flicked towards Izaac. “Markus, I’m afraid that the pressure lies over your shoulders. I’m sure Spencer and Izaac will explain in detail later what you must do—and if you fail, I cannot have you here.”

Markus looked grim, but he offered a stiff nod. Izaac thought he almost looked pale.

“Very well. I wish you the best of luck, my sons,” and with that, Ivan turned away, walking briskly towards the house.

Markus looked like he was about to upchuck, and Izaac took a wary step back. Spencer leapt back, blurting something about how Markus better walk away. There was a flash of hurt in Markus’ eyes, but he did not answer Spencer. Instead, he looked away, and stumbled towards the stables. Surely he would have fallen over his feet if Jonah hadn’t stopped him, a look of concern flashing over his face.

“Don’t worry,” his voice broke, and when Markus looked up to meet Jonah’s eyes, and only then was when Jonah spoke up, “Izaac will take care of everything—he always does. Right, Izaac?” His eyes rose to meet Izaac’s, and Markus turned around the slightest bit to look at his cousin.

“Of course,” Izaac was unsure of what else he could say, so he simply nodded, hoping that would be enough to keep his cousin on his feet. Although, where had he turned from hunter to babysitter?

Markus still look concerned, but he straightened up, his eyes lingering on Jonah. He seemed to be about to speak, but suddenly turned away, heading into the stables and leaving Jonah with a small smile on his face.


	14. Fifth Night: Vampires

They had been travelling in relative silence—only the clopping of the horse’s hooves, and Teke’s agitated protests could be heard. Izaac lead the stallion along, and it had not lashed out even once. A little to his right and behind him, was Markus, urging his jet black gelding grimly on, and refusing to look at either Izaac or Spencer. Spencer battled with Teke to his left, and a couple of feet behind them.

The mare had been inconsolable ever since she realized it was Spencer to ride her and not Izaac. The first time Spencer nestled unto her back, she reared up so suddenly, that Spencer slipped and fell from his perch. That had not dissuaded him. He barked at the stable hands to hold the horse down, and it was only then that he managed to climb onto her back. She had been kicking and bucking all the while. Six times now, she had succeeded in throwing Spencer from her saddle, and after all of them Spencer had insisted he could mount the mare. As the trip wore on, she grew more tired, and her protests less, but Izaac doubted that’d be the last Spencer would see of her legendary temper.

Once or twice the stallion looked like it would lash out at Spencer, but mostly, it was flicking its tail and tossing its head uneasily. Regardless, the stallion was not as much as Izaac’s concern as Markus was. Spencer had tried to begin a conversation with Markus once or twice, but he had been coldly ignored—their dear cousin was deeply lost in his own thoughts, and clearly exasperated.

He had to try, though.

“Jonah has seem to take a liking to you,” he tried to keep his tone casual, tried not to alarm Markus.

Which failed, drastically. Markus looked up at Izaac, eyes wide, and his fists tightened around his horse’s reins. That did not seem to be the right subject to bring up. Though, if anyone asked Izaac, the reaction was both extreme and interesting.

“That one doesn’t tend to ask for a lot of favors,” perhaps ignoring Markus’ agitations would be the best remedy, “my father took his cousin and him for work when they were young, and they’ve never been known to ask for much.” That seemed to attract Markus’ attention, he met Izaac’s eyes now, and it was clear he was curious. “I’m guessing you don’t know much about them?”

“No,” well, a word out of him, at least, “I don’t think I’ve been long enough in the house to get to know anyone.”

A whole string of words that even made a sentence! He could already feel Spencer glaring holes at his back.

“I guess not. Dorian is a maid’s son—she doesn’t work at the house anymore. When her second child came about, her husband brought her back home again, and they left Dorian with us. Ah, an arrangement of sorts. From what I understand, Jonah’s a single child, but came from a troubled family. It might be better to ask Dorian or Jonah himself about that, but suffice to say that circumstances led him to be homed with Dorian’s family, and when he was of age, Dorian asked us to employ him.”

Markus listened carefully, his brow knotting in a frown. “Are all of you hunters?”

Izaac found it odd that Spencer hadn’t boasted about that, but he supposed it didn’t matter. Most likely, he had, but Markus had not cared enough to listen. “Not really. Besides the main family, Dorian’s the other hunter. Most of the house’s staff is well-informed however, and Dorian has taught Jonah a few things, but that’s about it.”

“And the townsfolk?”

Izaac shrugged, “No. Some are informed, some not. They’re known for being a superstitious lot, so most will have at least some basic knowledge of it.”

Markus seemed to mull that over, as he returned to his silence. Izaac allowed it, instead turning his eyes to the surroundings forest. The woods were thinner here, around the road, paved away under the falling footfalls and trampling hooves. The carriages had dug ruts into the ground the last time it rained, and some were still faintly marked over the ground. Beyond the road, however, the forest would grow thicker and denser—it would be easy to get lost in these woods. The stories of witches and wolves spiriting away children in the night were rampant, and there were even some whispers of darker things. 

Once Izaac deemed enough time had passed, he turned to interrupt his cousin’s thoughts once more. “What do you know about vampires?”

Markus grimaced, but he seemed more determined now. “Not much, I’m afraid. I know that they feed off blood, and that they’re nocturnal. I know they’re very hard to kill, but there’s ways to do so.”

“How did you kill the ones in your house?”

Markus looked away, and did not answer. Izaac thought he wouldn’t when he suddenly spoke up, his voice so low that Izaac had to strain to hear. “A shelf. We pushed a shelf on top of them, and locked ourselves in Tam’s room.”

_We_ surely meant his twin and him. Tam must be the sister then. _Them_ involved more than just one. Izaac had to marvel at their resourcefulness—whole families were often wiped out with just one vampire, but Markus and his siblings had managed to ward off at least two. But still, it was hard to fit everything into space with so little information.

“Crushing them can work, but even then, I wouldn’t trust it unless it was their skulls that were crushed. For most, cutting their heads off, or a stake through the heart work—the older vampires, however, are trickier. A stake through the heart only immobilizes then, and not permanently, and some even say that cutting their heads doesn’t work. Usually, you have to burn the body afterwards too.”

Markus’ eyes were as wide as saucers, “What do you do then?”

“Depends,” Izaac turned to look forward, paying his cousin only half of the attention, “in an ideal situation we stake them, lop their heads off, then burn them afterwards. That can’t always be accomplished, though, so we try to do as best as we can.”

“And what if that doesn’t work?”

Izaac shrugged, “In most cases, it will. Most of the vampires we encounter are young, and they rarely last more than a few months. The young ones tend to be stupid and reckless—they hunt after the people of their own town, so they’re quickly suspected and dispatched. Others do not want to hurt people, and wander uselessly around until someone recognizes the deceased and deals with them accordingly.

“Which brings us to the subject of how vampires come to be,” Izaac turned to Markus then. Markus was looking ahead as well—his face was pale, and he looked woozy and unsteady in his saddle. He quickly noticed Izaac’s silence, however, because he looked up, and when he caught Izaac looking at him he nodded, signaling Izaac to carry on. “Right. Traditionally, it’s done by bite. Anyone bitten has the risk of becoming a vampire, though, that’s rare. Most times, the vampire will need to drink the victim’s blood until they die. Even then, it’s rare. Becoming a vampire is not the norm—most times when you die, you stay dead. 

“Some vampires give their victims their own blood before they die, and it is said to increase the likeliness of the victim to rise as a vampire, though I’m afraid I’m ignorant on the matter. Whatever the case—the process is the same. The victim dies, and within a week’s time, the deceased rises as a vampire. Once they rise, they tend to hunger for blood and attack the first thing they see—usually rats, birds, or cats—in order to feed. From there, it’d depend on the risen’s sire—some are on their own, others join a coven. It is worth mentioning that it is rare for a vampire by itself to survive.

“Regardless, loners are rarely a threat, and we don’t make it our concern. They’re usually killed off by those who knew them or they kill themselves. Our concern lies with the bigger groups—or covens. They’re usually a group of young vampires led by a slightly older vampire. Again, most do not last. Groups that big tend to attract attention, and hunters or townsfolk hungering for recognition gather together and kill them.

“Ah, I forgot to mention sunlight. Sunlight can kill vampires more efficiently than any blade if they’re kept under it for enough time. Vampires are nocturnal, and during the day, the younger ones tend to fall into a deep sleep. This is not to say they cannot wake, however. It is difficult for them, but in the case of sure danger, they can usually keep themselves awake for a short period of time. However, I’ve seen older vampires wander around in the dark during daytime with little problem, so always be on your toes.”

Markus nodded, looking grim. His clutch on the reins tightened and released for a few breaths, before he finally obtained the courage to speak up. “You said not all of them kill?”

“No,” Izaac stopped to consider his words before speaking. People tended to have trouble with what he would say—superstition or simply, mistrustfulness, but it had to be said all the same. “Not all. Mostly the loners just wander from town to town taking a little blood from here and there to keep alive, but not enough to kill. A lot of them sympathize with hunters, and some even join our ranks and become hunters themselves. Then there’s cases of vampires that have found themselves a family, and simply want to live in peace. Usually, if they don’t kill, we leave them be. Allies are useful.”

“There’s vampire vampire hunters?” Markus seemed amused now.

“Yes, I suppose you could call them that. Mostly, they do not like to see innocents being harmed, and hunt those that would kill mercilessly.”

Markus nodded at that, and turned to look away from Izaac once more. Izaac thought he heard Markus speaking, and chuckling to himself, but he wouldn’t have sworn on it. At least he had seemed to take the last bit fairly well.

They carried on like that, in companionable silence for a good chunk of an hour. Behind them, Spencer occasionally cursed at the mare, but Izaac forced himself not to panic. She was only wearing a hackamore now—Spencer could still yank, but her mouth should be spared, and he had no crop or spurs on him—Izaac had denied them both. Teke was a tough horse, and he knew she’d deal with Spencer well enough. It did not stop him from wishing the mare finally managed to fling him off her back for good.

Markus seemed to be deeply lost in thought, and if it wasn’t for his horse’s good sense, he’d most likely have lead the beast into a tree by now, but the gelding protested his absent-minded hold on it and dodged anything that stood in its direct way.

When Markus spoke up again, his voice was soft and shy. “What is it you will have me do?”

Sadly, Izaac had no comfort to offer. He shook his head, and offered only a vague, “You’ll see,” which Markus seemed to take well enough. He nodded, though he looked no less worried, and did not ask for explanations.

“We’re near the town!” Spencer whooped from behind them, kicking back at the mare to hurry her along. She viciously protested, pulling her head in an attempt to yank the reins off Spencer’s hands. When that did not work, she tried slowing down, tossing her head and snorting. Annoyed, Spencer did not notice he had wandered close to the stallion. Izaac did not hold him back either.

The horse turned to Spencer, and bit his arm with a _crunch._ Spencer yelped, Teke rushed ahead, and the stallion pulled Spencer back.

He fell hard on his back, with a comical shocked expression on his face. He gulped in a hard breath, but did not move.

The stallion turned his attention away from Spencer, and trotted off after the mare. After a brief hesitation and a last look at Spencer on the ground, Markus urged his gelding along as well, clearly wanting no blame on the situation.

When Spencer finally climbed to his feet, he had to run after them, and didn’t catch up until they reached the edge of the town.

He did not try to mount Teke again.


	15. Fifth Night: Churches and Crosses

The town stood over a large sprawl of relatively hilly land that stretched beyond the forest’s borders. The trees thinned out to reveal pleasant grassland with a path weaving around and between the small hills. The town itself was located towards the crook of a river, sprawling from its shores and eating up the land surrounding it. What wasn’t overtaken by crops was left to the livestock, and it was not unusual to find cattle meandering around the road instead of the fields.

In itself the town wasn’t the most impressive sight. The walls that surrounded it were made of wood, and most of the citizens had long since settled outside of the walls, leaning their houses against them and rendering any protection they might have given the town useless. The houses were mostly small, sad affairs towards the outside, as one progressed deeper into its depths, they would grow grander and even prettier—though it was still not much compared to the estate Izaac and Spencer called home.

There were flooding problems as well; oftentimes when it rained, the river would overflow, and leak into the land nearest the river. Potentially, it could be good for crops, but initially, it proved disastrous. Those that lived near the edges of the river were forced to retreat into the safety of the town to wander aimlessly about until the floods receded. Others still, chose to remain in their homes and walked through the puddles that formed, dragging horses and livestock alike. It wasn’t uncommon to hear of a child being swept away by the currents to meet its demise. 

As precarious as living could prove during rainy seasons, the town flourished for its agricultural products and fine thread and woven cloths. As such, construction had begun along the edges of the town, and there was even hope that it would become a grand city one day, though Izaac would not hold his breath.

It was sunset by the time they arrived in the city, and they had to act with haste. Izaac carried on the lead, and Markus followed, leading the gelding along behind Izaac, and, when possible, by Izaac’s side.

Markus looked at his surroundings with open curiosity. Never once did he stray too far, but he spun around and craned his head to inspect something closer. Behind them, Spencer trailed, dragging his feet and breathing hard. He hadn’t spoken up even once ever since he caught up with them.

“Didn’t you come past here before?”

Markus turned to look at him, surprise written in his face, “I was sleeping.”

Izaac had nothing to say to that, so he grunted. Markus didn’t seem to be much for talking either, and his attention drifted back to drink in his surroundings.

Izaac led the two horses around the wider streets. A few times he had been tempted to leave the horses in Spencer’s care and simply cut between the narrow alleyways that formed between the large houses, but in the end, decided against it. They’d take the long way through the town square (a vivacious and crowded space with too many loud children for his liking), then towards the back of the church and, finally, to their destination.

“You didn’t miss out of much,” when Izaac glanced over his shoulder, Spencer had caught up to Markus, a weary grin on his face, “it’s rather boring and calm here. But, not to worry, once you’re a hunter, you get to travel all over the place. Right, Izaac?” 

When Izaac did not reply, he carried on, his voice raising in volume, “I’d like to move to one of the big cities, but father will have none of that. Prefers to live between nosy maids and gossiping peasants, but what to do?”

Markus seemed to catch on fast—he didn’t even try to reply, it was clear from the start that Spencer just wanted to hear the sound of his own voice.

“But shitty towns like this can be nice too—”

Izaac tuned him out.

The town square loomed over them; an open space with grimy tiles underfoot. People surged around dragging anything from squabbling children to the weight of their bread and cabbages. One vendor yelled out their produce over the other’s one, and the cacophony of bouncing sounds and loud voices made it hard to think. The surroundings buildings varied from a physician’s house, to the large sprawling and clearly Catholic Church, its height soaring over the rest of the buildings.

For the most part, people saw the horses and parted before them. The stallion pawed and flicked its tail impatiently, and more than once, Izaac feared the horse would try to kick out or lash out at anyone that drew near. Luckily, most seemed to notice the agitated horse and hastily drew back from it. Those that didn’t quickly learned to keep away from it.

With an agitated stallion in tow, and a mare that seemed to dare anyone to touch her, Izaac stumbled out of the square. Gingerly, he tugged the two horses along the wide alleyway that lead towards the back of the church. He thought the stallion would surely lash out then, but to his surprise, it hurried along the tight fit of the alley meekly enough.

Markus stopped before the church, casting his glance upwards—at the cross on its top. He looked thoughtful, and the expression prompted Izaac to stop. When Markus continued to stare with nary a word of explanation, Spencer snuck besides him.

“What’s the hold-up, shorty?”

Markus tore his eyes from the building, blinking blankly at Spence. Annoyed, Spencer repeated the question.

“Aren’t crosses and holy water supposed to burn vampires?” something in his tone of voice told Izaac this was not a light question, prompted by mere curiosity.

“No, that’s mostly a myth,” he spoke up, his tone even. When Markus turned a curious glance, he broadened on the subject with a sigh. “Neither holy water nor crosses burn them, but if the vampire is Christian, it will flinch back and act fearful around the religious objects. This, however, seems to vary on the vampire’s beliefs. A vampire from China would be solely affected by holy elements of its religion— say, Buddhism, whereas a crucifix wouldn’t even make it blink.”

Markus turned to look back up at the church, his gaze far and distant. He did not move until Spencer grabbed at his elbow and dragged him away, and even then, his mind wasn’t really in what he was doing. He stumbled for a few steps before he finally picked up his footing. Spencer was about to speak, but Markus ignored him, urging the gelding along to hurry past Spencer and his thoughtless words.

Once Izaac turned to make sure Spencer and Markus were following him, he caught what he’d thought would be Spencer’s death. Markus, cautiously and slowly, urged the gelding along, while Spencer, impatient, as always, tried to squeeze past the horse’s girth and cut along in front of Markus. The gelding noticed him, and with a startled snort, cocked a hoof to kick back. Spencer noticed just in time, and flailed back, landing hard on his bottom, and away from the horse.

Markus scowled; those that caught sight of Spencer near the square turned to laugh and whisper; Spencer’s face turned a delightful shade of beet red. He shook himself, and stood up, but this time he waited until Markus finished leading the gelding past the alleyway and into more open space before he followed.

“You couldn’t have _warned_ me?” Spencer snapped once he was through, turning to Markus with a pointed glare.

“I didn’t see you,” Markus sounded meek and reserved, his eyes downcast. Izaac wondered if his sudden behavior could be attributed to what he had asked before.

“Then watch _carefully _where you go next time!” his voice rose an octave, and Markus flinched back at the volume.

“Spencer, down, mutt,” Izaac hissed, “let’s just accept that horse’s aren’t your forte and be done with it.”

Spencer seemed about to protest, but before a single word could burst forth from his mouth, Izaac turned away, leading the horse’s along the opened up space between the houses. He stopped once he reached the well in the center of the patch of ground, overcast in the long shadows from the surrounding buildings, then turned around to face Markus. “Wait here.”

And with those words, he handed the reins to Markus, turned around, and left.

“Where is he going?” Markus’ voice seemed to carry the slightest hint of alarm.

“To get them,” Spencer was clearly annoyed, but nothing would dissuade him from speaking, “you know, our _friends._ You’re so lucky to be here right now, Markus.”

Markus did not reply, and when Izaac glanced over his shoulder, he was looking down at the well, his expression grim.


	16. Fifth Night: A Family

It was well into the night when Izaac, Spencer, and Markus finally got moving again. The air was chilly, and Izaac tugged his clothes tighter around him in hopes of keeping warm. To his side, Markus hugged himself, while Spencer seemed to be kept warm by the sheer energy of his anger. The surrounding fields were utterly empty, and from afar, the distant hooting of an owl and the manic chirping of crickets could be heard. The horses snorted every now and then, and their hooves made dust rise from the earthy road. They rode in silence, however. No one dared speak.

They were late. Very, very late. And it was all Spencer’s fault—not that it was any real surprise.

Spencer had stubbornly insisted that he would ride Markus’ calmer mount. He would have nothing to do with neither the mare nor the stallion. For his part, Markus looked mortified at the very idea of getting anywhere near a horse that was not his gelding. In his despair, Izaac tried searching for another mount, but that turned up hopeless—no one in the town was prepared to lend their hard-earned horses to a couple of strangers, even when those strangers were clearly of Ivan’s brood.

Izaac had tried diplomacy then, but Markus simply wanted nothing to do with the nameless stallion or the ill-tempered Teke. He had offered to walk. When Izaac pointed out that it’d be too slow, he’d offered to be dragged behind the horses.

Finally, with the help of Spencer and their temporary companion—Daniel—they managed to corner Markus into getting up on the stallion. Markus had been visibly shaking as he did so, and as soon as he horse took a single step forward, he flung himself from the saddle, cringing on the floor and clutching at his head. It had taken three more tries to get Markus settled on the stallion, and it was only with the threat that they would tie him to the horse if refused that he finally assented.

He _had_ flung himself from the horse on another occasion, but no one spoke up against it. As soon as the stallion realized that there was another long weary walk ahead of him, and that Markus would be riding him, he started acting up. Tossing his head, stomping at the ground, and kicking against anything that ventured too close. When the horse started threatening to buck, Markus abandoned ship.

It had taken yet more time to catch the stallion and soothe Markus. He had finally assented once more when Daniel, his breath heavy with liquor and his words slurring, had offered to ride the stallion instead. The proposal was that they’d switch mounts—Daniel with the stallion, and Markus could take Daniel’s camargue gelding. Whether it was the threat of having a death hanging over his head or the smell of alcohol in his breath, it had swayed Markus enough to get back on the stallion and not dismount.

For his part, Izaac came to realize that the stallion was far calmer if he was left at the back of the group, with Teke close by. And that’s how they travelled—Daniel picking the lead, swaying in his saddle, Spencer pouting and huffing behind him, followed by Izaac on his mare, and Markus bringing up the rear astride the stallion.

They had been travelling in silence for what must have been an hour on the dusty road, before their guide finally decided to break through the gloomy atmosphere. “Y’should see a house up ahead,” his words slurred, and he seemed to notice, because in an attempt to fix it, he took a swing from his canister, “and a-ole-church next to’t—that’s where we goin’.”

Spencer, ever the silent and watchful diplomat, spoke up then: “Are you always drunk?”

Daniel stared over his shoulder blankly, and for a moment, Izaac thought he hadn’t understood the question. “Oh, this? _Naaw._ I jes dun like this whole business ver’much, but a bit-o-rum always helps. _Yuss_, sir.”

Spencer muttered something under his breath, and Izaac shook his head. Why had his brother even thought asking would be a good idea? At least they were close now—even if late, he thought there would still be more than enough time to take care of business and return back to town. Though, that heavily depended on how well or not Markus behaved.

“I could go for some of that…” Markus muttered behind him.

“Aah, chucks. Ya shoulda told me, pal. I’d have gotten ye some while bossman Izaac went on der goosechase,” for a hopeless drunk, he had some good ears.

“Yeah,” his volume was higher now, so Daniel didn’t have to strain to hear him, “you could almost say I’m at the _pint_ of no return.”

Time seemed to stop. Daniel’s eyes grew wide, Spencer whipped around, looking like he was about to spit, and Izaac could only stare. The stallion himself pinched his ears back in distaste. Nothing happened for a few seconds. The silence was only broken when Daniel burst into hysterical laughter. He swayed dangerously on his saddle, and Markus grinned. The sound of it made Spencer’s gelding try to trot away from the threat, Daniel’s own horse flinched under him. The stallion snorted, and Teke tossed her head back.

Between fits of giggles, Daniel managed to speak up, “Do another one!” he urged, smiling real big at Markus, suddenly excited, “do another one!”

Markus cocked his head to the side, thinking for only a moment before he said: “Wine not?”

That was enough for Daniel—he roared with laughed, and his hands slipped from the horse’s reins, nearly falling off the horse in the process. Spencer cursed, struggling to keep his anxious gelding on the road. The shaken beast seemed to think Daniel was a furious predator. Teke snorted and tossed her head, and Izaac held his arm out to protect himself from the mare’s flailing. The stallion flicked his tail in annoyance. Markus, for his part, looked smug and even a bit proud. He smiled, eyes fixed on Daniel as he wheezed on his saddle, clutching at the horse’s neck so as to not fall off.

“I like ye, Markus,” Daniel said between chortles, “if you ever in town again, just gimme a call and we go anywhere ya like, kay?”

Before Markus could answer, however, the church came to sight—suddenly and without warning, as they rounded up a hill, there it was. Its wood had been painted white long ago, but now it laid mostly in ruins because of disuse. The bell had long since been stolen, so the topmost tower stood utterly empty, with a broken cross at the top. It stood nestled against the woods, with a wide clearing opening up to either side of it. To the church’s right, a few meters farther away from them, and half obscured by a mass of trees, stood the house. Although it was too hidden away to tell, Izaac thought it to be in a similar state of disrepair at the church.

“That’s it, gents,” Daniel’s voice picked up, sounding cheery and dreadfully drunk, “that’s thurr found ‘em.”

“How many?”

“Three,” there was a hesitation there, and Izaac automatically stiffened in his saddle, “a man, a woman, and this lil’girl. Looked like a famuly. He stopped suddenly, and took another swing from the canister, licking his lips nervously, “the mama tried to fight back, the little lass took her own life—only one left is the guy, and hiss none too happy ‘bout it.”

“Why did you kill them?” as long as the vampires did not go after humans, the hunters tended to leave them alone. It was rare for groups of the like to go after families themselves, at least, not if they planned on settling in. From the tone of Daniel’s voice that had been precisely the case, then why…?

“It weren’t us,” he slurred, “the vamps ‘parently got caught going after a cow, and them cowfolk got angry. They writ us a letter then went after the vamps themselves. When we got thurr the guy vamp had killed two of them poor sods, and was about to rip into a third. ‘Guess he was real angry ‘bout his fam.”

“What’re we going to do then?” when Izaac turned to glance at Markus, his eyes were as wide as saucers, and all the color had drained from his face.

Somewhere to Izaac’s side, Spencer laughed, his voice snapping like a whip as he spoke. “Not _we_, my sweet little cous’. No, this will be all _you_.”

“W-What do you mean?” Markus eyes snapped from Spencer to Izaac and back again, “this vampire did nothing wrong.”

“Are you deaf? Dan-boy said he killed _two_ people,” Spencer sneered.

“But that was in self-defense.”

“He’s a vampire.”

“But—”

Daniel interrupted then, whistling softly, and shaking his head sadly. “Dun sweat it so much,” his tone was gentle, “his fam’s dead—probably the only thin’ he ‘ad. Guy’s angry, but I dun think it’s so much to live as to not. We’d have done him in already if it wasn’t fer Ivan’s orders. ‘Es been ready to go for three days already.”

Markus met the words with silence. He didn’t reply, but Daniel didn’t push for an answer either. He took another swing of his canister, stopped, shook it, then cursed and flung it aside when it turned out empty. Without looking back, he urged his horse into a gallop. Soon, the rest followed his lead—the only one that hung behind was Markus.


	17. Fifth Night: Stalling

The church’s meager condition became more apparent the closer they drew to it. The wooden boards that lined the building were rotted through. In places, they had fallen apart altogether exposing the fragile skeleton of wooden beams and nails that held the building together. The paint that covered it was chipping off, and spider-webbed with cracks. In other spots, the paint inflated to form little balls filled with foul water. The huge doors that stood before the entrance had been torn from their hinges, and they hung lopsided, leaning heavily against an unsteady door frame. It was impossible to tell how recent that had been—there was the possibility that the farmers had torn it off, or even the vampires themselves, in the struggle. The smell that hung over it was of moisture, and dust, and disuse. The vampires hadn’t been here long then, or otherwise had not occupied the church at all—there was a possibility that they had used the house nearby instead…

“Where did they live?”

Daniel was pulling to a stop in front of him, eyeing Spencer warily as he dismounted from his mount. Upon the sound of Izaac’s voice, he looked up.

“The church,” his voice was barely more than a whisper, “half of the house is collapsed and no good,” he said by way of explanation.

Izaac nodded, and turned his gaze towards the church once more.

It stood towards a hill, with wide clearings to either side, but the grass was long and overgrown. Once, there would have been two or three steps that would lead towards the door, but the grass had grown over them, completely obscuring them from sight. From what Izaac could see behind the doors, the church was a simple affair—a wide open room, with an altar towards the far back, and two doors to either side that would lead to the offices and, most likely, a basement. There were three windows to either side, parallel to each other. At some point they could have had colorful mosaics of tinted glass, but that was no more.

A part of Izaac wanted to ask about the church itself, but there was no time. Impatient, Spencer had already tied his horse to the side of the overgrown road, bouncing from foot to foot and scowling. At that moment, Markus arrived as well, looking dazed and lost. His eyes wandered to the church, and he craned his head up to look at the cross over it. Izaac was struck with a sense that this was somehow important—it could not be coincidence that Markus had looked upwards at the church two times in the same day—he didn’t strike Izaac as immensely religious, despite his questions, so he couldn’t possibly be praying. It had to be to do with his parent’s murder then, wouldn’t it?

“Right, then,” Daniel spoke up, “now that we all here let’s get to movin’,” and with those memorable words, he fell down from his horse with a _thud_.

With all haste, Markus half-climbed, half-flung himself from the stallion, rushing to the prone Daniel’s side. With a little more ease, Izaac climbed down from the mare—more interested in seeing what Markus would do than actually help the fallen drunkard.

Markus dropped to his knees, and gently turned Daniel on his side, his eyes wide and worried. His fingers roamed and prodded the sides lightly, searching for injury. When Daniel still did not stir, he pushed Daniel onto his back. As he was turned, a long groan escaped Daniel’s lips.

“Daniel?” Markus’ low voice carried an undertone of urgency.

“Is that you m’princess?”

“He’s drunk,” Spencer said with a sneer, toeing around the grey gelding, and bending at the waist to look at Daniel over Markus’ shoulder.

“That’s one funny-lookin’ beaver,” Daniel slurred, “watch out, M’kus, those thin’s have rabies.”

Spencer’s face turned a lovely shade of beet red, but before Izaac could comment on it, he stormed off, stomping and hissing under his breath. Markus smiled and rose to his feet, offering Daniel a helping hand. Daniel offered a word of gratitude, and grasped at Markus’ arm.

At least it seemed Markus was getting along with their little drunk friend.

Izaac dismounted, turning his attention to the two horses. The stallion had taken advantage of his freedom to press closer to Teke, snuffling and nibbling at her side. Teke returned him the favor, and Izaac feared their little grooming session would go on for a while unless interrupted. He grabbed at the stallion’s reins and led the two horses to where Spencer tethered his mount. He arranged them so that both horses stood side by side and left them—grazing at the grass and pointedly ignoring the gelding as they were.

Daniel and Markus were deep in conversation when Izaac returned—Daniel’s horse had wandered away, its head turned towards the grass. Markus immediately stopped speaking when he caught sight of Izaac. His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

Now, what was that all about?

Izaac ignored it, “Where to?”

“The back—they should be by this big ol’ oak,” Daniel sounded cheerier than he had a few moments ago, though that could very well be the alcohol talking, “c’mon, follow me.”

With those words, he moved around Markus and towards the back of the church. Izaac signaled at Spencer—brooding with his back pressed against the wooden walls of the church, and his arms crossed over his shoulder. For a moment, Izaac feared he would remain there, but he followed soon enough. Curiosity haven gotten the best of him.

Markus dragged his feet behind Izaac, suddenly incredibly reluctant once more.

Towards the back of the church there must have been a cemetery once upon a time. The fences were metal, black and rusted—and the place itself was overgrown with vines and weeds. The greenery stretched until vines curled over the sides of the church—thick and ruthless, and sprawling with healthy leaves, eagerly growling forward in an attempt to swallow the building whole.

Two figures—their faces pale, stood just past the cemetery and into the woods. They seemed to be weary, and only noticed the approach of Izaac and his companions when Daniel called out to them. One of the men lifted an arm in greeting—then turned to speak a quick word to the other and disappeared into the trees.

Daniel was surprisingly steady in his feet for someone who, for all intents and purposes, be knocked out on the floor. He only stumbled once—over a branch hidden by the long grass, then quickly stumbled back to his feet and away. The grass grew sparser and shorter once they reached the edge of the tree line, and Daniel stopped once to glance back at Spencer, Izaac, and Markus.

His eyes stopped over Markus’ face, his expression turning grim. He looked like he wanted to speak, but in the end, decided against it.

The man that stood waiting for them had a rather disconcerting similarity to Daniel. The same shape to their eyes—Izaac mused—and the jaw had the same build to it. Where Daniel was slim, however, this man was not. A round stomach nestled against his belt, and his shoulders were thick and strong. He stood a few inches taller than Daniel as well. When Daniel smiled at him, he scowled.

“’Bout time you show your arse here.”

Daniel didn’t even try to come up with a retort, “We ‘ere now. Where’s our guy?”

Could they be cousins? Izaac wondered. They looked too different to be siblings, and about the same age too. Siblings was highly unlikely, unless his estimation on their age was incorrect.

The man nodded towards his right—towards the back of the cemetery. “Tied down, just for the new lassie. Where is he anyway?” his eyes went around, falling briefly on Izaac’s face, before dismissing him. He studied Spence for a few breaths too, but when his eyes fell on Markus he smiled broadly. “Ah, little cat’s scared—he’s a bit skinny, ain’t he?”

“Are only you and Eric here?” Daniel ignored the question, speaking loudly to drag his cousin’s attention away from Markus.

“Aye,” he lifted a hand to wipe at his nose, “suppose we should get going.”

He nodded towards Izaac, and turned around, walking away into a more tangled part of the forest. 

Without a word, Izaac and Markus followed—keeping their heads down to look carefully where they stepped, steering away from the trees’ tangled roots.

Spencer sighed wistfully, “Ah, your first kill, Markus. An easy one too, aren’t you excited?” When Markus didn’t reply, Spencer repeated the question again.

“No,” said Markus. Simple, no explanations.

“You want him to keep killing then?” Spencer hissed, his voice low.

“No.”

Izaac tried to hold back a sigh—tonight would be a long night.


	18. Fifth Night:The Task

The vampire looked worn and haggard. The clothes he wore were torn in places, and in parts, they seemed to only be held together by the help of the ropes that tightly bound him—his hands were wrapped around his back, though he wore no gag. As Izaac drew closer, the reason became apparent—the vampire didn’t even stir to look who had come. He was unconscious, his head hung lower over his shoulder, and his muscles were slack.

He was made to lean against the rough bark of a short tree near the back fence of the cemetery. Maybe it was the hallowed ground or something else altogether that wore away at the vampire—Daniel was right in that, at least. This one wanted to die—he could already see that the hunters had tried feeding him, and the blood still splashed across the tree and the man’s clothes.

Behind the vampire stood a taller, yet slimmer man from Daniel’s nameless cousin—his arms were crossed over his chest, and he spared them a withering glare as they approached. This one had a large square jaw, dark-colored eyes, and wispy blond hair. He was as thin as he was tall—towering even before Izaac.

“Too long,” the man spat in a rumbling voice.

Daniel didn’t answer this time. He stepped away, towards the opposite corner of the clearing, looking away into the woods instead of the vampire. Izaac thought that maybe he would have left if it wasn’t for his fast fondness for Markus.

The cousin moved away to stand by Daniel’s side. Unlike Daniel, Izaac doubted that one would budge a single step to help.

Spencer stepped around Markus, and Markus seemed to take cover behind the two brothers. He eyed the vampire between them, but did not make a move towards him—not only was he visibly very reluctant to, but looked to be rather agitated as well.

“Right,” grumbled the one closest to the vampire, “name’s Tomas,” he nodded towards Izaac and Spencer. Spencer flashed a half-smile, but Izaac did not stir. “Ways I’ve been told is that we’re initiating a new guy—is it the little lass behind you?”

Markus tried to make himself more invisible, taking a step back and casting his gaze to the ground—or Izaac’s bum. With a smirk, Spencer stepped aside, reaching back until his fingers wrapped around the sleeve of Markus’ shirt before giving him a firm tug forward. Markus stumbled, his eyes wide and fearful. When he lifted his gaze to look at Tomas, it immediately dropped to his feet. He refused to even look at the vampire.

“What’s yer name?”

Markus did not reply—he did not even seem to listen.

“We’re burning moonlight,” Tomas sighed, casting a weary glance towards his companion and Daniel. Daniel was still pointedly looking away.

“Markus,” Markus’ voice was so low that Izaac barely caught the name from his lips.

Clearly, Tomas was not very amused, “_What_?”

“Markus,” he spoke louder, but never once did his eyes leave the ground,

“Markus what? Was your mum a whore?”

Markus did not let the jibe get at him, “DeLange.”

“Right. OK. Good. Now, listen here. You don’t like this, we don’t like this. But it’s something you have to do, so listen up—I don’t want to repeat meself here.”

Markus didn’t stir, but he looked to be attentive enough. Izaac wasn’t sure what Markus thought the sulking would bring him, but it would not be pity. He supposed Markus would eventually learn, but for his part he was starting to grow impatient. It was unavoidable. The whole situation was lose-lose for Markus. He should simply do as he’s told and mourn and regret later. If he didn’t, Ivan would not be very pleased, and living at the estate would turn into a dark, bitter thing for their newly-arrived cousin.

“Quiet one, ain’t he?” Tomas asked no one in particular. “This vampire murdered two men and injured a woman. He has owned up to it, and shows no regret. You shouldn’t either,” with those words he held up a piece of wood to Markus—tapered on one end to a point, and nearly as long as his forearm. Markus looked up then, and his eyes widened. Izaac thought he saw apprehension mixed with something else. Fear? Whatever the case, Markus swallowed hard and reached for the stake, balancing it carefully between his hands.

Tomas seemed satisfied with that—he nodded, eyes fixed on Markus. “The heart’s here,” he pointed to his chest, “I suggest you start getting used to aiming for there. It hurts—the vampire will scream, even try to get away. Do try to make it quick.”

Markus did not reply. Tomas did not speak either. He stayed there, looking at Markus and letting the silence stretch out.

The moon could be seen between the branches of the trees, and Izaac had to admire how high up the sky it was. They should be getting back to the town quick—it’d just be their luck to fall upon a pack of wolves. To his side, Spencer sneered. 

What could he be thinking? Jonah’s request still reverberated across his skull, and Izaac knew that before the night was over, he’d have to keep his word. Even if somehow, Markus gathered his wits and executed the vampire flawlessly (doubtful) Spencer would still have his way.

“Lad?” Tomas’ tone was more gentle now, and the sound of it made Markus lift his eyes to meet the older man’s. “I suggest you do not think it over too much or you won’t be able to do it. Here,” he passed Markus a small mallet, “and remember the blood.”

“What?”

Markus’ eyes widened, and the stake nearly slipped from his fingers. Spencer snickered, Tomas frowned, and Izaac turned to glower at Spencer.

“You did not tell him?” he hissed, but Spencer only smiled.

“And, what? Ruin the surprise?”

Markus turned around to glare at them then, betrayal spiking his words with a sharpness unheard of until now, “What do you mean?”

“Izaac,” was all Spencer said.

Tomas scowl read clear disapproval, but he did not speak. Daniel and his cousin were looking away from them—they did not want to get involved.

“You have to drink his blood,” no skipping around that one.

“What?”

“It’s part of a long tradition, and there’s no time to explain it now. It had been Spencer’s task, but that does not matter now. After you stake him, you must draw the stake out and drink the blood.”

Markus’ skin paled, his eyes widened, “F-From a cup?”

Spencer sneered, “Do you see a cup anywhere, Markus?”

Markus did not reply. He turned back to face the unconscious vampire, and slowly, started shaking his head. 

“Markus—” it was Daniel’s voice, but Markus didn’t seem to hear.

He shook his head, and a stream of, “No, no, no,” started flowing from his lips. His hands were shaking, yet his fingers only clenched his weapons tighter—knuckles standing out white against his already-pale skin. “No, no, no.”

At that moment, he took a step back, his intention clear—get away, flee—every fiber of his body seemed to be saying. The stake slipped from his fingers, and fell on the ground next to his foot. More slowly, he let the hammer fall too. He took another step back.

Spencer hissed something under his breath, and stepped behind Markus to shove him.

Markus toppled forward, and threw a hand out to catch his balance, but it was too late. He stumbled and fell, his fingers clutching against the vampire’s shoulder, his head landing against the vampire’s lap. Tomas hissed a curse under his breath, and Daniel yelled out something unintelligible. Slowly, Markus lifted his head, his eyes widening as he realized who he was touching. Immediately, he retreated the hand as if burnt, and struggled to sit up and get away from the vampire.

The vampire lifted his head—

_Spencer, you fool_, Izaac thought bitterly.

It wasn’t tied to the tree—there was nothing to hold him where he was. 

—His face was sallow and haunted. His eyes were sunken in, and his cheekbones protruded from under his eyes. His gaze was wild and hungry. Izaac did not think the man even remember where he was—this one only knew the feeling of the burning in his belly, and the dryness of his mouth and throat. Once his eyes fell on Markus, he gingerly leaned forward, mouth gaping.

Markus froze in place—did not even flinch when the vampire fell on him. Did not blink when Daniel yelled out—when Tomas reached forward—when Spencer leaped back with a shout—when Izaac rushed forward.

He did not even gasp when the teeth brushed against the scars in his throat. His body went slack, his eyes stared at nothing.

Izaac stretched a hand forward, but only reached Markus’ head. He grunted, his fingers wrapped around the long brown hairs, and he yanked the head cruelly back.

A hiss—an exhale of air—escaped Markus’ lips, but nothing more. He fell back, and the vampire fell on him—his head on Markus’ chest. Markus did not move. The vampire did. Izaac did not think—he reached lower, to Markus’ shirt, and half-yanked, half-dragged Markus away from the starving vampire. The vampire twisted around, and clamped his teeth against Markus’ leg. Markus did not kick out. Did not move. His body felt stiff, and a thin layer of sweat covered his face—

Could he have gone into shock?

Tomas wrapped his fingers around the ropes tying the vampire’s hands behind him, and yanked the beast back. The vampire snarled in fury, but Tomas quickly rounded a strong kick to his side to quiet him down.

Izaac turned his attention to Markus’ outstretched leg—nothing. The vampire had bitten down on the thick leather of the boot, and found no purchase there.

Before he could feel relief, Markus was moving once more. He kicked out blindly, and wrapped his arms around his head, shivering and sweating—eyes wide, teeth clenched. He lashed out at Izaac’s hand on his shoulder, and crawled farther away. He muttered something under his breath, but Izaac could not even understand what language it was.

As intriguing as his cousin’s reaction was, there were other matters at hand. Namely, Spencer.

But before Izaac could round up on him, Spencer was spitting and hissing, “He’s useless! He’ll clam up whenever a vampire as much as glances at him.”

“Ya flung him on one!” Daniel screamed, his voice clear for once, “if that’s how you deal with yer business, I dun _blame_ him for clammin’ up!”

“He was _tied._”

“Well, maybe you’d like to give our _tied_ friend a hug!”

“Shut _up_!” Tomas yelled—snatching the words right out of Izaac’s mouth. Though, maybe Izaac would have yelled: _silence!_ It does pack a bit more drama into it. “Shut up, both of you,” he hissed, lower in volume, but no less calmer, “forget about your dick contest, the newbie’s practically dead on the ground.”

Which appeared to not be true—Markus was as pale as a ghost, shivering, and sweating, but he was clearly alive. Just maybe not in the best shape.

“Aw, that? Don’t worry—I can fix that,” and with those words, ignoring the angered and shocked looks he was thrown, Spencer moved to Markus’ side. “Hey, there, little cous,” Spencer sang, running his hand through Markus’ hair, “don’t worry. Your good friend, Spence, here will make sure Ivan learns nothing of this, right?”

Markus did not even make a sign of noticing Spencer—his eyes stared at nothing. 

Spencer paused, regarding Markus for a moment, before hooking his arms around Markus’ waist and lifting him to his feet. Markus did not protest, and once he was half-standing, his legs moved automatically to find purchase on the ground. Satisfied with that, Spencer tugged him towards the vampire once more. Markus stiffened once he realized where he was being lead, but Spencer spoke more soothing words and assured Markus everything would be fine.

Izaac wanted to step forward—wanted to guarantee Markus that he would, definitely, not be alright under Spencer’s care, but in the end did not move. He’d let his brother do as he pleased with his little pet—let Markus see—

And he would crawl back to Izaac’s side and then Izaac could—

Carefully, Spencer eased Markus to his knees next to the prone body of the vampire. He dropped there, next to Markus, whispering something at his ear Izaac could not hear. Daniel watched warily, Tomas looked unsure, but neither said a word. They had defied Ivan’s brood for long enough—or maybe they were as intrigued as Izaac to see what Spencer would do.

Spencer said something, and Markus nodded. Spencer smiled.

He withdrew a slender knife from within his clothes, and slashed at the vampire’s throat. Crimson blood bubbled forth, dripping, black and thick, from the weeping wound—spilling over the vampire’s chest, and soaking into the ground.

Markus’ eyes widened, and he tried crawling back, but Spencer caught him. Stopped him from fleeing, and wrapped a hand around the back of Markus’ head.

Markus closed his eyes.

Spencer said softly, “Now, drink.”

And before anyone could stop him, he slammed Markus forward, onto the vampire’s throat, and pushed Markus’ face against the open wound. Markus tried to protest—his fingers dug against the ground, but Spencer shifted his grip so both his hands pressed against the back of Markus’ head.

Tomas looked away. Daniel’s cousin was nowhere to be found. Daniel himself paled visibly at the sight, but looked away.

“_Drink_,” Spencer hissed.

Markus seemed to move under his grip, but he could not speak. It was hard to fathom how the blood _couldn’t_ be flowing into Markus’ mouth. It must be flooding him, he was breathing it in, his eyes must sting with it. Spencer did not let go for a long time, and for a moment Izaac feared Markus would drown in the vampire’s blood.

His fears where for naught. Spencer eventually released Markus, though Markus did not immediately move. When he lifted his head, blood covered his face, his hair, it soaked down to his neck and stained his shirt. He did not say a word.

He did not speak when Spencer picked up the stake, and hammed it through the vampire’s heart.

He did tilt his head up—looking towards the church. The trees mostly obscured it from sight, so there was no way to be sure, but Izaac thought he was looking towards where the church’s cross would be—towards the top, above the stolen bell.


	19. Sixth Night: Mute

They parted from the town during midday the next day, with the sun beating heavily on their brows. No one said a word about what Spencer had done to Markus—no one dared even as so much as think of it. The possibilities seemed too dreadful, and they all buzzed in Izaac’s skull.

Markus himself seemed to have lapsed into a state of selective mutism. He did not acknowledge Izaac, Spencer, or even Daniel when they spoke to him. When given an order—told he’d have to move, follow, stay—he did it without a single word. When they arrived to town that night he had simply waited, like a well-trained mutt, for his room to be assigned, and then carried himself to it in silence. Daniel had exchanged a single worried glance with his cousin then.

Daniel had trailed after Markus, and stayed with Markus for nearly an hour. With the door closed, Izaac had dropped by the room, waiting over the entrance to see if he could catch anything. He stopped to listen, closing his eyes and concentrating on the sounds within, but it was only the murmur of Daniel’s voice. Markus didn’t seem to speak—maybe nodded or shook his head, but that was unlikely. Daniel’s speech flowed to well. It seemed to go on, uninterrupted. When Daniel came out of the room it was with a hopeless grimace, and a shake of his head. Spencer himself never said anything about it—whether to justify or excuse his behavior. He was oddly quiet himself once he realized the grim mood of his companions.

When morning arrived, Markus refused to mount the stallion—or more so, didn’t move an inch once he was told he would have to mount once more. Spencer forcibly dragged him away from the door, but that gained him nothing save a kink in his arm and bruises along his side when Markus yanked away from his grip so suddenly he was knocked off balance.

There had been simply no moving Markus from place then—threats, bribes, gentle words, even Daniel’s stupid jokes—nothing worked. He did not even make any sign of having heard them. Impatience gnawed at Izaac, uneasiness as well, but he would have never admitted the latter. With Markus’ silent stubbornness, Izaac had already decided he was simply going to leave his infuriating cousin behind when Daniel finally snuck to Markus’ side to say something in his ear.

Markus had nodded, once.

Daniel declared he was going to accompany them.

And that was that—Spencer protested furiously, but a withering glare from Markus set his mouth dry and the words to die in his throat. Izaac was almost impressed.

The arrangement was simple—Spencer mounted the black gelding, Izaac his own golden mare, Daniel the ill-tempered stallion, and Markus himself went silently along on Daniel’s gelding. Throughout the trip, Daniel kept a friendly droning chatter that ate away at Spencer’s patience, but seemed to calm Markus. Mostly, he complained about the ridiculous headache throbbing behind his eyeballs, though he never seemed to relate it to the alcohol he had ingested the previous night.

Izaac had to marvel at Daniel’s iron lungs however—he spoke nonstop, didn’t even seem to breathe, and somehow went through subjects with enough detail to make everyone else squirm in their respective saddles. Yet, he still found something to say about everything else—and the time to do it as well.

It was sunset when the estate came into sight between the tall trees and the dying light. It was all Izaac could do to not fall from his saddle as they neared the stables. He was tired, and his brain whirred with what had just happened the night before. What could prompt Spencer to even think—? Not to mention, Markus himself—they’d need to get him medical attention and soon. That is, if they managed to convince his father of what Spencer had done, which was unlikely. In that case, Markus would be in the rough for a few days.

Dorian and Jonah were there to greet them as soon as they arrived. They both set to help the weary riders and horses. 

“Who’s this?” Jonah asked curiously, as he caught sight of Daniel.

Daniel grinned, wiggling his fingers in a wave, before dismounting the stallion and gingerly stepping away from it. Dorian snatched the reins from his hands and ushered the horse inside—eager to get the stallion locked away before it started up any mischief.

“Daniel Sauvage,” Izaac answered for him, turning to face Jonah.

But Jonah wasn’t looking at him. He was standing still in place, turned away from Izaac, his head tilted upwards towards Markus.

Markus looked pale and unsteady in his saddle, and a thin film of sweat covered his face. There were bags under his eyes, and his hair was disheveled, yet he still forced a small smile to his lips when he saw the stable boy.

“Markus?” there was shrill concern in Jonah’s face as he approached Markus, his hands automatically going to the horse’s reins, “what’s wrong?”

He didn’t reply. Instead, Markus climbed off the gelding, giving Jonah another of those small pained smiles. Jonah looked unsure, but with a prompting gesture from Markus, he turned away from him, leading the horse towards its stall.

Once Jonah was out of sight, Markus whirled around and walked off. Daniel looked after him, eyes wide, but before he could follow him, Izaac grabbed at his sleeves. With a tug to get his attention, and Daniel’s eyes on him, Izaac shook his head. He looked like he was about to protest, but in the end, merely gave a deep sigh. It would be useless to chase after Markus now—better allow him to walk off whatever was bothering him and find him later. 

Izaac had not noticed before how far Markus’ condition had deteriorated. That was worrisome—the vampire bites had happened a while ago, but they still happened. That topped off with ingesting live vampire blood—didn’t that increase Markus’ chances of turning? Except, being of Izaac’s line and sharing blood with his family meant something different than for others. If Markus was indeed turning then—

And that was when Izaac realized. He felt his eyes grow wide, his heart to give a squeeze in his chest. It was rare, but it could still happen. Did that mean—?

“Ya think e’s gonna get hurt?” Daniel’s voice broke through Izaac’s wildly spinning thoughts.

Izaac forced himself to concentrate on the matter at hand despite the hammering in his chest. He’d think the possibilities over carefully later. He’d have to see Markus again this very night though. With Markus in the condition it was, that was rather doubtful, but there was something else he could do. Or, rather, some_one_ else.

“Nah,” and it was Izaac’s honest opinion. He doubted Markus had the energy in him to even think that far. He made a note of looking for Markus later, before his father had a chance to whine, then turned around to lead his own mount towards her stall.

Dorian re-appeared then, gesturing at Spencer to dismount. Spencer looked weary and annoyed, Izaac noticed. Had Daniel’s chatter affected him that much or could it possibly be Markus? He had carried the lead all the way from the town—Izaac hadn’t really noticed anything odd. Snappy and bitter, yes. Deeply affected or worried for his cousin? Not really.

“Dorian, take Teke too, will you?” Izaac made up his mind in an instant. He ignored Dorian’s pained face as he handed over her reins, and gingerly stepped towards Spencer. Dorian could deal with the mare—at least well enough not to get kicked, he hoped.

Spencer glared at Izaac as he drew closer, but Izaac ignored it. This one had caused enough problems already for Izaac to care much for his precious feelings. Ignoring Daniel’s questioning looks; he made a grab for Spencer’s hand, cruelly pinching the flesh of his forearm to drag him away from the stable’s entrance. Whining and furiously protesting, tugging at his arm to be rid of Izaac’s merciless grip, Spencer forcefully followed along.

“Shut up,” Izaac hissed, not even bothering to look over his shoulder.

“Let go, then!” Spencer whimpered, giving another tug at the arm. Izaac did not loosen his grip even an inch.

Once they were out of earshot from the stables—especially from Markus’ little friend, Izaac released Spencer. The force behind the last tug, and Izaac’s sudden release made Spencer stumble for a few steps, balance precarious, before he finally set a foot back to regain his balance. He straightened up, tugging at the neck of his shirt and giving Izaac a scowl, but Izaac ignored it.

He glanced towards the stables—Daniel was still looking at them. When he realized Izaac was looking at him, however, he hastily ducked his head and headed inside the stables.

At least he was well behaved.

“What’re you going to do?” he asked, turning his attention back to his brother.

Spencer did not bat an eyelash, “About what?”

“Markus,” Izaac hissed.

“What about him?”

“Don’t play the fool with me,” suddenly losing his patience, Izaac grasped at Spencer’s throat, fingers gaining purchase against his shirt. It was good enough for Izaac. He gave it a firm shake, making Spencer’s jaws snap shut and his head to rattle. “Did you see how feverish he is? Do you know what that means?”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“But you _did_. So tell me my sweet brother, what are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll tell father,” he grasped at his throat, clawing feebly at Izaac’s hand. “Let _go_.”

“Do you wish to get yourself killed?” he spat, tightening his grip, watching Spencer’s eyes grow wide. “No, you won’t tell him a thing. Not a word. Make up a lie.”

“Isn’t he dangerous—”

“Spencer,” his voice turned sickly sweet then, a smile touching at his lips, “my idiot brother, pray tell, what will father do if he learns?”

“He’ll call a doctor—”

“And what will the doctor do?” the thought had only occurred to Izaac’s moments ago—as he had watched Markus walk away.

Spencer fumbled, failing to understand. He grasped at Izaac’s hands, fingers circling Izaac’s wrist. Annoyed, Izaac clicked his tongue, giving Spencer a firm tug to send him sprawling on the ground.

He gasped, and fumbled, picking himself up to stand on his hands and knees. When he looked up at Izaac he was panting, eyes wide and fearful. When Izaac scowled, he flinched, half-crawling away.

“_Think_ you idiot, _think_,” Izaac spat, “he brought the drunkard here. He’ll be here to tell everyone in town—what will happen then?”

Spencer’s eyes grew wide “B-but that means—”

“You’ll have to lie,” Izaac said again, feeling his patience drain. “Sing a pretty song for him—I do not care which, but do it.”

“But maybe father won’t see it that way…”

“And you want to take the risk?”

Spencer hesitated then, and Izaac knew he had him. This was no time to let the fool think—pressure him until he snapped like a twig. It was only a matter of time before this sort of thing had to happen anyway.

“There’s no other way,” his tone turned sweet then, gentle. Izaac stretched a hand forward to help Spencer up, but he only eyed it suspiciously. “Your name will be the one on the line—you can be sure this drunk will tell everyone in the town it was you—and then, what? What will you do?”

“I-I—” Spencer’s voice broke off, thoughtful. He did not speak for a few breaths, and when he lifted his eyes to look at Izaac, he looked fearful. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

He grasped Izaac’s hand—meeting Izaac’s eyes and offering a shy smile. To Izaac it looked stupid—it reminded him too much of a lowing cow. “That sounds like a good idea, I,” picking himself up and straightening, he patted away the worse of the dirt from his clothes, not looking at Izaac as he spoke “thank you.”

Izaac smiled, “My pleasure, my sweet brother.”


	20. Sixth Night: Dogs

It was already nighttime when Izaac finally found Markus—not in his room, not in the kitchens, not in the stables, not even _inside_ the house—if not, in the dog kennels.

He made quite the sight as well. He lay with his back flat against the wooden boards of the floor, spread eagle, with his arms stretched away from his body. He hadn’t bothered to remove his grime-stained clothes, and they stuck to him after long hours of sweat and dirt. The dark stains the blood left behind were still there—and they stood in stark contrast with the fabric of the clothes, staining the area around his throat and trailing down around the edges of his sleeve.

Perhaps most ridiculous of all was how a dog stood over him—the spotted white on black bitch that had grown so fond of him. She licked at his hands and chin, snuffling at him, her tail wagging gently behind her. Another bitch was draped by over his legs, using the leg’s bone to rest her head, her eyes were closed.

Izaac could not see Markus’ expression from where he stood, so he walked closer, being careful to keep quiet as he stepped over Markus’ limbs to peer at his face.

Markus’ eyes were closed, and his breathing was slow and even. He seemed to be sleeping.

The bitch was licking at the sweat on his face and neck, it looked like. Despite it, Markus’ face did not look as flushed as it had before, and his breathing was not labored. Could it simply be because of the heat?

Izaac snuck closer, stretching his leg to dig his shoe into Markus’ side in an attempt to wake him.

At first, the technique yielded no results, prompting Izaac to jab the shoe further into Markus’ side. He shifted, and frowned, but otherwise, Markus did not move. The bitch that was draped over his legs lifted her head and paced away—curling up in a distant corner.

With an annoyed click of his tongue, Izaac delivered a light kick on Markus’ side. This time Markus’ eyelids fluttered, his mouth fell open.

The bitch became more excited—licking at the newly-opened mouth with renewed vigor, her tail wagging. Markus choked, and lifted a hasty hand to push her away. The dog alternated from Markus’ faces to his fingers, and proceeded to coat the digits with her saliva.

“How are you feeling?”

As expected, Markus gave no reply. His eyes flicked towards Izaac briefly, and he frowned, but turned his attention back to the dog. He patted her side, and ran his fingers through her long fur. She gave a little excited yip, and Markus smiled.

“At least a nod or a shake of your head,” Izaac prompted.

Markus’ fingers stopped at the dog’s flank, and he, reluctantly, tore his eyes away from the dog to fall towards Izaac. He stared for a few heartbeats, and Izaac feared he would not reply, but at length, he gave a single nod.

“No fever? Sudden weakness? Headaches?”

Markus shook his head.

That was odd—he looked weary, yes, but Izaac could not detect signs of illness in his eyes. Or anything a good long sleep and a change of clothes wouldn’t fix. Markus had looked fit to spend a few days bedridden but now...

Had he done something?

But, no, no. That made no sense. His family had not been one of hunters. Maybe it was simply the shock of what was done to him that had caused such a reaction in his body. That paired with the loss of his family could be enough to impair anyone’s senses. Perhaps what his cousin truly needed was some rest.

“You could go to your room and sleep.”

To his surprise, Markus shook his head.

Izaac frowned, trying to keep his voice gentle, “You can’t stay here. You’ll die of cold.”

Markus’ fingers tightened on the dog’s fur. He glared at Izaac and for an instant, Izaac was at a loss for words. Did his cousin really mean to stay here with the dog?

“I... wi-will bring... _her_,” his voice was hoarse from disuse, but it was clear that he was speaking, and they were matched with a glare.

The bitch? He was talking about the dog? What did anything have to do with the dog? The request was ludicrous—well, more like a demand. The maids would go hysteric if they saw Markus smuggling a dog to the bedrooms. Then again, did it really matter? It was only a dog, and Markus could hardly stay here. With that vampire roaming around and his condition it could be dangerous.

Not to mention, that if Izaac allowed it that would be another point in his favor.

“That’s fine,” Izaac said with a small smile.

Relief flooded Markus’ expression, and he turned to the dog with a small smile. He stroked her head, and then stood. He struggled, but he stood—legs wobbling dangerously under him. 

He did not spare a single glance at Izaac as he urged the bitch to follow him—at least not until they were both out of the kennels. He only stopped once to look at Izaac then. He looked like he was about to say something, but in the end, never spoke a word.

Izaac watched him lead the excited dog to the house, wondering if things were really that simple.


	21. Sixth Night: Orders

When he went into his father’s office he was met with twin glares so alike that he had to smile.

One pair of eyes quickly turned to look away once Izaac’s gaze met them. The other pair met Izaac’s eyes and held them, the expression melting into a scowl.

“One would think it’d be common courtesy to greet your father upon coming home.”

Of course.

“Spencer asked me to do something for him,” Izaac put in mildly, not even bothering to glance Spencer’s way.

Ivan’s eyes flicked to Spencer then, and Spencer offered eager nods. Trying not to drag attention to himself, Izaac quietly closed the door behind him and stepped forward, stopping just next to Spencer, allowing a hand’s length of space between them.

After the brief scene with Markus, Izaac had been taking his sweet time to enter the house. He locked the dogs in for one, and taken the most leisurely stroll to gather his thoughts for the other. It was then and only then that he finally stepped into the house, gathering his scattered emotions to step into his father’s office. It had been mere habit—his feet carried him to this place without a prompting thought from him, and he was not disappointed. Spencer was clearly in the process of explaining their ill-accident with the vampire and their cousin.

“Spencer was just telling me a very interesting story,” Ivan huffed, his eyes fixing on Izaac.

“Oh?” Izaac’s eyes flicked towards Spencer. Did he blame the whole ordeal on Izaac?

“Ah, well,” Spencer stalled, refusing to look at Izaac. His eyes fixed on the map besides him, and he turned to talk to it instead, “I was telling father how useless these uneducated hunters in town are. You know? Since it broke from the ropes? If it wasn’t for my quick thinking, Markus would have been utterly mauled.”

It was no real surprise that Spencer had decided to set himself as the hero. That was no real concern of Izaac’s. So, Izaac held his tongue, eyes fixed on the back of Spencer’s head. His brother shifted uneasily, turning to look over his shoulder and giving Izaac a quick glance to judge his expression.

“But in the end, the rite was a success. Simply, Markus didn’t turn out killing the vampire as planned, but does that really matter?”

Izaac did not immediately answer, instead, his eyes flicked towards Ivan, trying to gauge his feelings in all this. He was scowling, his nostrils flaring, glance shifting from Spencer to Izaac. He disapproved then.

“Thanks to that we can’t judge his skill or his willingness to hunt,” Izaac was cautious with his tone, keeping it carefully neutral, “but he has been initiated as a hunter all the same. Will you have us train him as planned?” the last part of his words were directed to Ivan.

Ivan frowned, “Is there a choice?” his voice was tense, hardly concealing his anger. “You will train him, Izaac.”

“I thought I was training Spencer...” he tried to keep his voice just alarmed enough—a little whine, a little push.

“You will train Markus,” Izaac had to hold back a satisfied grin. “Dorian will take Spencer. He is not what I would like for my son, but denying his skill would be foolishness.”

Did Spencer request to be trained under Dorian? That was troubling, but Izaac presumed the news would be taken in even worse view by Dorian. It was odd—their father was disgustingly against every thought of Dorian. He despised him for the mere reason that he obviously preferred Izaac over Spencer’s company. Spencer must have convinced him of that then—and it must have taken a large amount of buttering up. Ivan was a stubborn man, and his views hard to change.

Or maybe it was something with Markus? What had his brother told their father? Had he assumed too much when he allowed Spencer to run his mouth as he pleased? But—no. It was the only way to convince Ivan of such events. If Izaac had been there, Ivan would have found it odd that Izaac was agreeable—suspicious even. There was no doubt the servants had seen the scene between himself and Spencer earlier that day by the stables, and from there, it wouldn’t be unusual to jump to the conclusion that Izaac had threatened Spencer. The maids liked to chatter, so the rumor would spread across the household in due time. If Ivan thought Izaac was intimidating Spencer...

Which wasn’t a lie, but that didn’t really help his case.

He’d have to drag out the information from his brother later. As of now, he should be comforted by his small victory. Markus was given to him, which meant he could keep a more careful eye on his cousin and be dismissed—

And cutting Spencer off would be justified. Can’t have the little brother nosing around training—and a request from Izaac and Dorian would make sure to keep Spencer busy.

There was still the issue of Markus himself, but Izaac would not allow it to trouble him. Markus was stubborn, but so far, predictable. Surely there would be something to be done there.

“Alright,” Izaac tried to keep the small sense of victory from his tone, dropping his gaze from Ivan’s.

“That is all then. Rest for now, but I soon expect you to retake your duties, Izaac.”

“I understand.”

“Ah... and since Dorian is your dear friend, you will inform him of Spencer’s training and its progress.”

That was unavoidable—even if Ivan hadn’t commanded it; Dorian would indubitably go to Izaac to inquire. “In the morrow then. Right now, I need rest.”

Ivan shot Izaac a glare, but did not speak or argue against his words. Lifting a thick hand he waved Izaac and Spencer away. Both brothers offered stiff bows before departing. 

Spencer looked distant and thoughtful once the door closed behind them. He stepped into the hallway, turning to the direction of his room, but Izaac quickly sprinted after him, calling out a word to stop him.

Curiously, Spencer turned to look over his shoulder, stopping just short of turning away from the main hallway and out of sight, eyes wide.

“What did you tell him about Daniel?” depending on his answer, Izaac could make use of him.

Spencer frowned, opening his mouth to protest, but a glare from Izaac made the words die in his throat. “That he saved Markus from the cretin’s jaws and, in his shock, Markus invited him as a guest. It would be dishonorable to ask him to leave, so he has been assigned the guest room across from Markus’ own.”

Daniel was staying then, but for how long? He supposed that would be inquired during another unending feast the next day. Izaac would have to hold his curiosity until then. Another thing to make note of.

“I see,” he’d need to gather his thoughts and plan his next steps with caution. It wouldn’t do to make a careless blunder. “Ah, Spencer, keep away from Markus, will you?”

Spencer glared, stammered some words, but Izaac cut him off, “I need to convince him to keep quiet—seeing you will alarm him. I need to convince the drunkard as well, so keep away from them for as long as you can manage.”

He still looked rebellious, but he offered a stiff nod, “Alright.”

“Ah, and make sure the maids know your tales—and that Daniel is fond of drink and lies.”

Another of those glowers, but Spencer nodded. “If word of it comes out...”

“I’m sure you have something lovely planned for my person, but I assure you, brother, I have nothing but your best interest at heart.”

To his surprise, Spencer smiled—a large ugly thing. “I’m glad you’re finally doing your job as the older brother. I didn’t think I’d ever see the day.”

What an alarming thought.

“When have I done you harm?” he kept his tone light, biting back a smile at Spencer’s startled expression. Without waiting for an answer, he turned away, walking briskly towards his own room, and ignoring Spencer’s troubled stare.


	22. Sixth Night: A Knife

Izaac’s room was just as he had left it—no real surprises there. Izaac was the type to clean up his own room. He did not like the thought of maids swooping in and nosing through his things. When it became necessary, he always stayed in the room to supervise. A habit that annoyed the maids, but there was nothing to be done with it. Izaac would rather deal with a little bit of resentment and injured pride than losing his things.

Or so he thought as he stepped into the room. He was so caught up in his own jumbled thoughts that he did not even glance closely enough to become suspicious. He stepped to the window, tried to reason out things—

Markus for one was a concern. The attack that took his parent’s life and the hunter blood in him now with vampire blood in his system...

Daniel would be a problem as well. Izaac would have to find a way to ease him and convince him into lying. That, or Izaac would have to find a way to discredit him. Either way, he doubted the drunkard would like it.

Dorian would train Spencer now. He wouldn’t like that one bit, but there was nothing Izaac could do about it. At the very least, Markus would be under his care. He predicted Markus would be as challenging as Spencer, but for another reason entirely.

And then there was the vampire wandering around the grounds and his demonic stallion. He wanted something from Izaac—that much was obvious. He could guess one of them, but surely there was something else. He didn’t remember seeing this fellow before, and that disturbed him. Maybe he could try asking the hunters—

Just as he turned his face away from the window he noticed it.

On his desk, a book had been laid open—one he did not remember reading in perhaps months or even years. On top of the book, the silver knife he had taken with him just the other day when he met up with Apep was there. 

A feeling of excitement bubbled up in him. Gingerly, Izaac stepped towards his desk, glancing over the knife. There was blood along the blade—just a little, but it was without a doubt, blood. It stood crimson against the pale blade, and stained the pages of the book underneath.

The pages underneath the book seemed insignificant—it was one of those books about vampires that Ivan had insisted both his children read. Izaac had to move the dagger to read the text underneath, and he did so with caution, wary of touching the blood that stained the blade. The handle felt cool to the touch, and nothing was amiss as far as Izaac could tell.

The letters underneath were a tale—one of those famed vampire legends. This one was nondescript, it didn’t stand out in Izaac’s mind, but as he skimmed the text it seemed to be about a vampire drawing out a victim. In this specific scene, the vampire came into the victim’s room, luring the hapless girl into his arms.

Izaac had to smile at that—this one had a sense of humor.


	23. Seventh Night: Books

When Izaac awoke it was in that dreadfully sluggish way that suggested a long drear day ahead.

It was late midday—or maybe early afternoon? His windows revealed a sun high in the sky, with maids and servants buzzing to and fro. He did not immediately stand from bed until he felt his senses coming to him, and he did so reluctantly. The bed was warm and welcoming under his weight, and thoughts of the day ahead did not help to motivate him.

First, he had to search up for Dorian.

It was that thought that made him stumble to his feet and get dressed. He hadn’t had a chance to speak with his friend yesterday, and it felt long overdue. At the very least, Dorian would be able to distract him enough, and give him the motivation to carry on with the rest of his tasks.

He skipped out on breakfast, thoughts racing. The sooner he saw Dorian, the better he’d feel. If anything, he could have a meal after he spoke with him.

The servant quarters were separate from the main house—added after the house’s construction. They stood behind the house, where visiting guests would not see them, but close enough so the maids would be just a shout away. As expected of such arrangements, female and male quarters were separated—not that it prevented little lover’s trysts from happening. Most shared rooms despite the building’s spaciousness, though there were a few exceptions. Dorian, and his cousin, Jonah were one of those.

Dorian’s room stood just at the right end of the main hallway, next to the stairs to the second floor—and right across from it, you would find Jonah’s quarters. This had not always been so. The two cousins had shared a room for a few years before Dorian’s occupations forced Ivan to break the arrangement. Dorian needed room for his equipment, as well as the liberty to slip from the room without ruffling any feathers. Jonah had been moved from the room then, and for a time, he had a roommate—a young stable hand, around Jonah’s own age. A year ago, a horse had kicked the fellow on the head, and a result, the boy became a half-wit. He was then sent off to fend for himself, and Jonah was left to his own devices.

Not that he ever had much difficulty—his cousin was always mere steps away, and it was not uncommon to see the cousins chatting away in each other’s rooms. Izaac doubted Jonah would have that ease for much longer. If a harsh winter came this year, they’d need all the help they could get. He would soon end up with another roommate, but for now, the arrangement worked well for both of the cousins—there were certain benefits to having a room of your own, after all.

The hallways were rather empty as Izaac stepped through the entrance, steering away from the inner garden, and turning to his left to reach Dorian’s room. He saw a man puffing on a cigarette, leaning against a wall, but that was all. He offered a polite nod to Izaac which Izaac ignored.

He stopped before the door to Dorian’s room, pausing to gather his thoughts. He’d need to find a way to ease Dorian and convince him to keep Spencer pleased and distracted. Dorian wouldn’t be happy. This wouldn’t be easy.

Drawing in a careful breath, he raised his fist to knock on the door. If Izaac was a late riser, then Dorian was a nightly one. Oftentimes his cousin would be forced to burst into the rooms to pester Dorian until he woke. Izaac was sure he’d be in his room at this time of day.

As would be expected, Dorian did not answer to the first few knocks. Even so, being the dutiful friend, Izaac waited a few breaths before rasping the door with his knuckles once more.

Again, no response.

He counted ‘til ten in his head, and tried being more forceful with the door. Nothing stirred except the dust motes in the air. There wasn’t even wind.

With little choice, Izaac tried the knob. It twisted easily under his grasp, and the door opened, letting out a buffet of heat that made Izaac turn his head away. That was no surprise, considering the high temperatures during the day, but it was hardly desirable. Trying not to drag in gulps of the hot steam, Izaac stepped into the room.

Dorian’s room was small, but functional. The bed was pushed against the far left wall, under the window, the floors were simple cement, and the walls were plain and undecorated, which was not to say they were completely empty. By the wall to which the door was attached was the dresser, with Dorian’s shirts and trousers meticulously folded by his own hands. The wall directly in front of Izaac held a rack with a wide array of knives, swords, hatchets, and even a crossbow. A small desk was pushed against the remaining wall, with books left carelessly open and papers milling about on the floor around it.

Ivan personally insisted that “at the very least” Dorian be able to read and write. As a result, Dorian poured a surprising amount of time into practicing his letters and flipping through books to keep his eyes trained. That was when his love for botany had been awoken, and his motivation for keeping practiced in reading increased. Oftentimes, Izaac would make sure to find the latest encyclopedias and written reports and discoveries regarding plants for his friend’s benefit—and that was what crowded the desk now. No books about vampires and their history for Dorian. Or at least, not very often. No, plants and roots for this one—occasionally, bugs and birds.

The man himself sat hunched over the desk, snoring blissfully away. As Izaac drew nearer, closing the door behind him, he noticed a small puddle of drool had collected around Dorian’s head, ruining the papers underneath. He had to hold back a sigh as he drew forward, gently reaching a hand to shake Dorian by the shoulders.

He snorted like a pig, choking on his own saliva, but did not open his eyes. Izaac tried shaking him again, and this time, his eyeballs stirred under his eyelids, and after a few breaths, the eyelids fluttered open.

“Wha—?”

“I should’ve slit your throat from ear to ear,” Izaac sighed.

That shook Dorian. He bolted from the desk, the leaf of paper sticking to his cheek, eyes wide. Once he turned his head to look at Izaac, he smiled, and a hand floated up to quickly snatch the paper away from his face, setting it down on the desk.

“What are you doing here?” he said once he gathered his wits.

“Can’t I visit my dearest childhood friend?”

Dorian smiled despite himself, “You usually have a reason.”

“Usually? I’m offended.”

His words were met with a snort this time, “Right. Always have a reason. What is it then?”

“First, I should inquire about what happened while we were gone,” Izaac said with a smile, “anything of note?”

Dorian sat back on his chair then, frowning. From his reluctance to immediately speak, Izaac could already tell that indeed something _had_ happened. He allowed his friend to collect his thoughts and held his silence, feeling the seconds tick by. He was about to speak up when Dorian lip’s parted.

“It’s not altogether all that important—more like a personal uneasiness,” his words were pronounced slowly, and his eyes were fixed on Izaac. Izaac nodded to encourage him, and Dorian continued speaking. “Lately the maids have seen something around the property. Probably a wolf—Jo says he saw it too, but that if it’s too large to be a wolf, the wrong shape too. It hasn’t done any real harm though, but...” his eyes held Izaac’s—they were bright.

The news came as no surprise to Izaac—he knew what Dorian was thinking, and he had a sneaking suspicion that he knew who this “oddly-shaped large wolf” was as well. “You sure it’s not one of the dogs?”

“I thought that at first too, but Jo says it most definitely wasn’t.Bear didn’t like it one bit either—started snarling and barking.”

A stranger then. Jonah’s dog, Bear, was a huge hulking creature made up of all muscles and thick fur. Despite its frightening appearance and considerable bulk, it was a fairly calm dog that rarely raised a fuss. Oftentimes it would sleep while Jonah worked at the stable—used to the coming and going of people as it was. But once a stranger showed their face, the dog became quickly suspicious and even dangerous. Its presence had always assured that Jonah would have little problem with other workers, as the dog simply did not tolerate any threat of harm to his owner.

He was sweet as sugar to anyone it knew—and Izaac did not know it to even as so much as growl to anyone it found familiar.

Dorian watched him in silence. Izaac had a good guess on what he was thinking.

“Wild animals can sometimes get confused for vampires,” he eventually said, “but you said there were no attacks?”

“Not so far, no,” Dorian frowned, “but what else could it be?”

A shrug, “As long as nothing’s gone amiss and no one has been hurt I’d say leave it. At least, don’t actively hunt it. But if you see it, it’s probably a good idea to intervene. Tell everyone to be on their guard.”

Dorian nodded, a small smile fluttering to his lips, “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Was that all?”

“Well, no,” something about Dorian’s tone of voice made Izaac look up, eyes narrowing. “I think someone’s been snooping around my room.”

“What makes you say that?” the entire household was aware Dorian was a hunter, but, as Izaac had experienced just moments ago, Dorian did not make the habit out of locking his room. His argument was that if anyone wanted to steal his sword or his books, they were welcome to them. Sarcasm, of course. Anyone that stole Dorian’s weapons would be insane, and what value would they find in books? Anything that was of any real value would reside in the house—locked away in Ivan’s office or Izaac’s room.

Izaac’s room...

Hadn’t there been an intruder in his room as well? The dagger over the book—laying down as if it had always been there. Izaac had long since cleaned up the mess, but that didn’t change the facts.

It couldn’t be coincidence.

But he couldn’t exactly tell Dorian that he’d seen the vampire—talked to him in fact. Dorian would take it badly. His cousin was much more level-headed, but wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. The only thing he could do was make sure they were properly warned. Apep hadn’t caused any real harm so far, and as long as he stayed that way, Izaac intended to keep his mouth shut. The vampire intrigued him, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in Apep’s motives or that he did not have motives of his own.

“No one in this house would have any interest in your things,” and that was as true as it got. Dorian had weapons, true, but the ones in his room were standard equipment for training and exercise. The sword was not even kept sharp—the sword Izaac had gifted Dorian, and the one Dorian actually used when needed, was kept in the family’s armory—that and the pistol as well. Maybe a curious child would sneak into Dorian’s room, but Izaac quickly dismissed the notion. It was impossible not to grow suspicious of the dagger and this break-in. “What did they take?”

“That’s the oddest thing,” Dorian frowned, “as far as I can tell, only a book is missing.”

A book. Izaac’s eyes widened.

Uneasiness nestled in his stomach then—could it be possible that the dagger and Apep’s presence were unrelated? He had no way of knowing unless he wheedled the truth from Apep’s lips but...

He couldn’t dismiss it either.

“What book?”

“Ah,” Dorian’s cheeks flushed, and he looked away from Izaac, “I don’t know. There is simply an empty spot in my bookshelf, the shelf was always full. I don’t remember which one though—the dust had been wiped away, so as you can see...”

Dorian didn’t touch the bookshelf—not that there was much to it. It was a squat thin thing next to his desk, carrying a few tomes of books Dorian did not read. In that case, it could very well be one on vampire lore. Some of Dorian’s obligatory reading from Ivan’s behalf that he flipped over once and bundled away, perhaps, or something of the like that proved unappealing to Dorian. In that case there was a possibility that the book in Izaac’s desk had been taken from Dorian’s bookshelf.

Except, that didn’t really make sense—why would anyone go through the lengths of stealing a book, cutting something with Izaac’s knife, then arranging them in his room? As far as he could tell, besides the certain flare for the dramatic, it didn’t achieve much else.

“That’s odd. Maybe our wanderer isn’t a vampire? But why would anyone steal a book?”

Dorian simply shook his head, “I don’t know. Maybe if I remembered what the book was, it would give us a clue.”

The book was still on Izaac’s desk. He hadn’t bothered seeing if it fit in his bookshelf. He supposed now he had good incentive to check.

“Keep a look out, and have Jo nose around for the book’s thief,” Izaac suggested.

Dorian nodded, “I already told him—that’s when he told me about the lurker. I was thinking of asking about the livestock today. The horses are fine, and the dogs seem to be in place too, but sick cows and the like.”

Izaac nodded, it would certainly not do any harm.

“We don’t have any hunting assignments?” he spoke at length, after a brief lapse of thoughtful silence.

“Ah, yes. About that,” something in Izaac’s tone of voice must have caught Dorian’s attention, because his eyes were wide, his lips pressed tightly together. “I have been assigned as Markus’ teacher. You will be Spencer’s from now on.”

The silence that followed could only be referred to as “awkward.”

“I’m teaching Spen... cer?” Dorian was half-smiling, an eyebrow arched. He didn’t believe Izaac.

“Yes. Oddly enough, Spencer insisted on it. He seems to be quite smitten by you.”

Dorian scowled, “I wouldn’t call it that.”

“Whatever the case, my father was quite clear: you shall be his teacher. He personally asked me to inform you.”

“Does he hate me that much?” Dorian’s voice now carried a note of desperation.

“On the contrary—I’m under the impression that Spencer has changed my father’s mind when it comes to your worth.”

“That’s a relief,” maybe he was being a tiny bit sarcastic in his reply.

“Regardless, you will be training him from here on out. I wish you best of luck with him—my little brother is stubborn and willful, and thinks he knows best even when he doesn’t know where he’s standing. He will be quite the joy, I predict.”

“How far did you get with him?”

“He knows where the heart is,” Izaac said with a wicked smile.

Dorian groaned, a hand coming to tug anxiously at his hair. “Maybe in a few years.”

“No, you see. That’s something else—I’d hope you’d keep him very distracted for me for as long as you could manage.”

Dorian stared.

“I need some quality time with Markus, and I was hoping that maybe you two could enjoy the town for a few days...”

“Izaac,” Dorian’s voice was firm, though there was a smile on his lips, “if you hold any affections for me, you will not ask such a thing.”

“But I’m afraid I must insist,” Izaac smiled back, “my brother needs some fresh air. Personally, I’d appreciate it a lot too—I’ll owe you one.”

“You already owe me hundreds,” Dorian said with a groan, “I swear if your brother tries anything—”

“He will.”

Dorian scowled, but quickly shook his face, the expression melting from his features. “Right. I’ll try, but I make no promises.”

“That’s all I ask of you,” Izaac said with a smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dorian huffed, turning his glance to look out the window.

From a nearby tree, a bird burst into song. The cheerful melody contrasted with the sense of doom over Dorian’s shoulders.


	24. Seventh Night: Fetch

As soon as Dorian found out that Izaac had yet to eat, he invited himself to breakfast, dragging Izaac along. As they chewed through dark bread with cheese and butter, plums, and pastries, Izaac told Dorian about his own trip—including both the actual version, with Spencer feeding Markus fresh blood, and the one Spencer had made up on the spot, where he was shown as Markus’ gallant hero. Dorian frowned as he listened, but did not interrupt. He seemed troubled by the end of Izaac’s tale, and rightly so—though Izaac did not share his bigger concerns.

Once their breakfast had been decimated, they chattered away about nothing in particular for a little while. Both seemed to become visibly relaxed as time wore on, and even if it was for a small while, all concerns were thrown away.

Eventually, Izaac became aware of the time, and he excused himself from the table then. Dorian accepted the half-apology with a wave of his hand—after all, Jonah must be expecting his help by now.

He searched out for Daniel in his room, but he wasn’t there. He rounded the house trying to think of where a drunkard would spend his time, when it occurred to him to ask a maid.

“I think I saw ‘em outside,” was all she said, but that was enough for Izaac. Though there was no explanation who ‘them’ was, he had a pretty good idea.

He wandered outside the house, and, on a whim, headed towards the kennels.

They were standing by the edge of the woods. Daniel sat on the stump of a trunk, frowning across the field at Markus and the borzoi bitch he had spirited away from the kennels just the other night. Markus looked better—all things considered. He still looked pale, but he was smiling as he snatched a twisted piece of branch away from the dog’s jaws and launched it across the grass. The bitch bolted after it, fur rippling like sails in the wind, snatching at the branch and flopping at the floor to chew at the bark.

Markus whistled, and she lifted her head to look up at him. He whistled once more—a long even sound, and the dog rose to her feet, trotting in Markus’ direction to return the stick.

Daniel did not move, but he yelled something indistinguishable at Markus. Markus turned to Daniel and away from Izaac. From that angle, Izaac couldn’t tell what words they exchanged, but Daniel seemed to grin in response, and Markus turned his attention back to the dog.

Izaac approached with an air of nonchalance, forcing a small smile to his lips and a little wave when Daniel spotted him. Daniel waved back once he recognized Izaac, and lifted his voice to shout across the distance:

“’Ey, there, Mr. Gold-Horse!”

Izaac couldn’t exactly say that the greeting was expected, but he took it in stride, offering a few words of his own as greeting. Daniel took them with a grin, but neither spoke again until Izaac was closer to him.

“How is he doing?” he said, keeping his voice low.

“Not talkin’ yet,” Daniel grimaced, so the exchange Izaac had seen before had probably been nothing more than an exchange of smiles “but he got that dang dog out of somewhere and looks much bettar. When I dropped by ta his room she was sleepin’ on him an’ Markus as pleased as pleased could be.”

“That dog’s from our kennels, but Markus has taken a liking to her.”

“That ‘e has. Dog seems to like him a whole lot too. ‘E gave her half his breakfast.”

“He didn’t eat?”

“Well, nah. He ate enough. ‘Was kinda worried about t’at too, but he looks OK. Guess jus’ wanted to give the dog the food.”

“Do keep a look out on him,” Izaac warned. If Markus fell sick because of too-little nutrition, that could be dangerous.

“Ye, that I will. He’s fine so far though—may still have a touch of fever. That brother of yers ain’t very charmin’, is he?” the last question was said almost as an after-thought.

“No, though I have a request.”

Daniel looked surprised at that. He tilted his head up, looking away from Markus and the playful dog, and arching a brow at Izaac. His eyes looked clearer now, Izaac noticed—he doubted Daniel kept completely away from the wine or rum, but he did not look drunk now at least.

“Oh? What would that be?”

“Could you keep the incident quiet from anyone else?”

Daniel frowned, Izaac could practically hear the protests now. “Now, why would I do that?”

“For Markus’ own health,” Izaac urged, “if someone finds out that we’re fostering someone so dangerous, they might seek us out. At least until the danger passes—after, I give not a wit how many people you tell.”

Daniel looked away from Izaac then, frowning. His eyes followed Markus’ movements, as he bent his arm back and flung the stick for the dog to chase. There was a stiffness to his muscles as he moved that could indicate tiredness or pain, but overall he did look to be in good condition. Nothing had changed—a few day’s rest surely...

But Izaac couldn’t take that risk, and if Markus did crawl into a danger zone then that’d mean—

“Fine. I see your point, but tell your brother that if he keeps houndin’ people like that, I’ll have his arse.”

“Understandable,” he tried to appease, Daniel, keeping his tone coaxing and soothing. “My brother’s harsh temper will be dealt with. My main concern is Markus.”

Daniel lapsed into silence once more, but there was something about it Izaac did not trust. He might appear easy-going, laidback, and not very bright, but something about Markus sparked some genuine concern in this man. Maybe he was simply the type to get attached too easily, but that proved ill for Izaac and his family. Daniel’s father had high-standing in the town, and his cousin had some influence as well. They needed to keep these people appeased, not arise suspicion.

“What will happen to Markus if he...?”

That was entirely the wrong question. Izaac pressed his lips together and looked away from Daniel, struggling to gather his thoughts. He hoped his reluctance to speak would pass by as genuine concern.

“If he proves dangerous,” Izaac finally made himself say, “we have little choice in the matter. Even if he doesn’t, we can no longer keep him here. He’d have to be sent with friendly vampires then and hope for the best.”

A lie, of course. But what Daniel didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. At least not immediately.

“That makes sense,” there was sorrow in his voice, and he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Has anyone told him?”

“No,” only Dorian, Spencer, Ivan, and Izaac knew what would truly happen to Markus were the vampire blood take effect in his system, but that was not something he had the freedom to discuss—nor did he want to share information with the likes of Daniel. “I was going to speak to him now but...” yet another lie, not that Daniel would see it that way, “he’s occupied. I’ll speak to him later in the afternoon.”

Daniel nodded his head, eyes fixed on Markus. “Alright,” he said in that sorrowful tone of voice, “I don’t know much about it meself so I guess I’ll just leave it to you. I just do as told, an’ all.”

Izaac offered a small smile, “Don’t we all?”

To that, Daniel had no real answer, but he returned Izaac’s smile.

Some feet away, Markus pulled the stick from the dog’s mouth, trailing slobber as he waved his arm. The dog set her rump against the ground, tail wagging and barked. The sound startled a maid several feet away, and she dropped the laundry over the floor with a yelp as a result. The sound tore the bitch’s attention away from Markus and towards the maid, and for a minute, Izaac feared the dog would tear after her, but Markus set his hand against her back, and she stayed. They both watched the maid struggle to pick the articles of clothing in the distance, carelessly tossing them over her shoulder, then running off with them in her arms, leaving behind what looked to be a single white shirt.


	25. Seventh Night: A Surprise Guest

Before Izaac knew it, night had fallen, and a maid approached him informing him his father requested his presence for dinner. Izaac had not truly been doing much—watching the horses, and eating away at the time. Teke and the black stallion were allowed in the same pasture. He had inquired as to why and learned that the arrangement could simply not be avoided. The stallion would leap clean over fences to wherever Teke grazed, and since he did no real harm, it was decided to simply let the two graze in peace—better then allow the stallion to pick fights with geldings or mares. He seemed to try to kick and run down anyone that strayed near the golden mare.

He had no arguments about assisting the feast, so he gave the maid a nod and a few words, then headed in the direction of the house.

Dinner was another stomach-cramping feast. Why on earth did Ivan want to impress Daniel was beyond Izaac, but appearances were everything, and the man was going through lengths of keeping it—possible scarcity of food in the future be damned. At least after the first night he had ceased trying to impress Markus. Izaac couldn’t decide if it was because he realized he simply could not afford it for every recurring night or if he noticed Markus shoveling food at the dog.

Ivan sat at the head of the table as was custom, with Izaac and Spencer to either side of him. Next to Spencer, sat Markus—looking grim and pale, but resigned. To Izaac’s side, and directly across from Markus sat Dorian—another surprise. Maybe Ivan thought he could group Daniel and Dorian together—in other words, an insult. To Markus’ side sat Daniel—as far away from Ivan as possible, and the slight was not lost on him. Daniel did not seem to want to allow it to bother him, because he kept a stream of friendly chatter with Markus who nodded and smiled when appropriate. Between Markus and Daniel, a familiar wet black nose made its appearance every now and then, and Markus would always stroke her head while Daniel cooed at her.

“Where _did_ he get that dog?” Dorian’s whispered to Izaac.

Izaac shrugged. It didn’t honestly matter—it was obvious the bitch was from their kennels, that Markus had singled her out and dragged her along with him, but she looked happier for it, and eager to please Markus. It truly did no harm—they had more dogs where she came from. If Ivan discovered it was Izaac that had told him he could keep the dog, however, he’d be furious with Izaac’s impudence. Whereas, if he didn’t know, he’d simply frown and wonder why his cousin was coddling one of the dogs—it was simply better not to say a word.

The answer didn’t seem to satisfy Dorian, and his eyes narrowed, but he did not push the subject.

The first course came in the form of a salad peppered with all kinds of exotic foods. Most of them made Izaac’s eyes widen in surprise—where the hell had that money come from? He knew his father’s business was turning out to be profitable—had seen the numbers with his own eyes, but to import food from the other side of the sea just to impress the likes of Daniel?

One could easily recognize the green leaves of the lettuce, crisp and wet with water droplets and olive oil. Splashed across the salad were tiny triangle pieces of yellow fruit that tasted sour—pineapples, then. Another pale yellow fruit decorated the plate—round in shape with a soft smooth texture—bananas? Wavy strip green peppers, bright red cherries, and little white shavings of coconut were spread decoratively across the plate. In the middle of the plate stood a strawberry—ripe and bright red with curled leaves growing from its bottom.

An odd choice for a salad, but Izaac picked through it all the same. For the first time it may be said he was a dainty eater—as he rifled through his plate carefully, avoiding the pieces of bananas and trying to scavenge the rest to eat. Dorian went through his plate with the same caution, though Izaac noticed he seemed to be avoiding the pineapples.

To his surprise, the one he expected to be the daintiest eater of them all, Markus, was going through the plate with unusual zest. Daniel was observing him with open surprise as Markus shoveled in bite after bite of the exotic salad with what could almost be said reckless abandon. 

Besides Izaac, Ivan and Spencer ate without comment.

“I don’t think we’ve had the honor of hosting a Sauvage under our roof before,” Ivan boomed, forcing Daniel to tear his eyes away from Markus.

“Uh, yeah, I guess. ‘Tis an honor, sir, uh.”

Ivan ignored that, “I hear you helped our cousin, for that, I must thank you.”

“Aw, chucks, it’as nothin’, sir.”

Markus suddenly stopped, glaring into his plate. He might be terrifying his dinner, but if Ivan noticed it, he gave no sign of it. “How is your father doing?”

“Well,” Daniel slurred, “been retirin’ from da business, y’know how that gets—so me an’ my cous’ are tryin’ ta do the best we can in his place.”

“That’s good,” Ivan said with a frown, “have I heard of your cousin before?”

“Now that I dun rightly know, sir. He works with Tom an’ the guys.”

“Tomas Allard?”

“Yuh. That’s the guy,” he hummed.

Thankfully, before Daniel could dig himself deeper into his own hole, the second round of food was swooped in.

It came in the form of roast grouse seasoned with sprigs of crisp thyme, curled sage leaves, chopped onions, and nutmeg. The meat had been cooked until the edges were black and crisp, nearly burnt, but the bulk of the meat appeared a deep golden brown. Poured over it was a churned white bread sauce, pooling over the side of the plate where pieces of greenery dotted the plate.

Dorian dug into the plate with renewed vigor, and Spencer seemed to take it as a challenge, for he attacked his grouse so ferociously, Izaac spotted pieces of wet grease flying from his plate and dotting the table. Daniel took a bite, and his eyes widened in surprise, eagerly digging in once he discovered he liked the taste of it. For every bite Markus took on the other hand, he passed an even bigger piece to the spotted bitch. In turn, she eagerly licked at his fingers for the grease and meat. It would be all too soon before she was climbing onto the table, tail wagging, begging for scraps.

Ivan did not try to reinstate his conversation once food was served, and Daniel didn’t seem keen enough to pursue it, so a relative silence lapsed into the table. Only the sound of tearing meat, clacking utensils, and chewing could be heard—with the occasional panting of a dog interjecting. Once, the dog’s tail smacked so hard against Markus’ chair, that Ivan tore his eyes from his food with a glare. At once, Markus reached down to set his hand on the bitch’s head, patting her in an attempt to keep her out of sight.

Once the grouse was mostly finished, and Izaac was picking at bones and scraping his fork against the bones to price meat, the third course emerged. Maids paraded around carrying plates with a wedges of cheese perfectly sliced to form a circle—cream cheese, goat cheese, a moldy peppered pale white cheese, and other wedges that Izaac could not recognize, varying from ivory white to a pale yellow. Pieces of hard bread stood to the side of the cheese, with a spoonful of sesame seeds peppered across the plate.

The maids were setting down the plates in front of each of them, when Izaac finally noticed a short slight figure standing by the doorway. It only took half a second to recognize Jonah—his brown hair sticking out on end, and his soft brown eyes bright with what looked like unshed tears.

What the...?

The thought never finished forming in Izaac’s mind. Suddenly, Jonah pushed off from the wall, letting the maids pass before stepping towards the table.

“Hey, Spencer,” he barked.

Spencer craned his head around to look at Jonah.

Jonah drew back his arm, his fingers clenched in a fist. Before Spencer could even figure out what was going on, the force of muscles strengthened by years of working with horses and lifting heavy objects made contact with the side of his jaw. The blow not only sounded solid, but resounded with a loud _crack_ that echoed across the room and sent Spencer tumbling back into Markus’ arms.

Immediately Markus stood up and stepped away from the fallen Spencer. Ivan and Izaac rose in their chairs, and Dorian stared on in mute horror.

The silence was finally broken when Spencer groaned in pain, his hand going to clutch at his head.

“_Jonah_,” Dorian hissed, surprise in every syllable.

Jonah’s eyes were wide and furious, and his cheeks were colored red. “Don’t touch Markus again,” he hissed, such venom in his voice, that Izaac heard Spencer scrambling back on the floor, knocking his head on Markus’ chair. “I won’t warn you again.”

Markus blinked, behind him the dog huddled between his legs, wagging her tail. He blinked at Spencer and looked up at Jonah—and to the surprise of everyone, smiled.

Jonah flashed a smile back, and whipped around; strolling away from the room with his head held high before Ivan could say a word.

Izaac could tell how furious he was though—his face had turned a shade of beet red, and his ears were bright with blood. His eyes looked like they would bulge out of their eye sockets, and his nostrils flared.

“Izaac,” his voice was hoarse with fury, “fetch the stable boy.”

Izaac could do nothing but stand from the table at his father’s command. Markus shot him a panicked look, but Izaac couldn’t bring himself to try to ease his cousin. He turned away from the table without a word, ignoring the way Dorian seemed about ready to fling himself after him. If he followed, that would be the end of Jonah, Izaac knew.

At least one thing was clear: his little cousin was wagging his tongue just fine.


	26. Seventh Night: Intermission (Markus’ Silence)

Markus hung back, wanting to step away from Spencer, but wary of the dog tangled between his legs. The borzoi pushed her snout into his hand, sniffing and licking the grease from his fingers, her tail wagging behind her. She was blissfully unaware of the potential consequences of what had happened, but to Markus, it left a sour taste in his mouth.

It was not that he was ungrateful to Jonah. In fact, as he had lifted his eyes and spotted the stable boy by the door, he felt his chest would burst. Upon hearing Jonah’s words, his heart gave a squeeze and a happy warmth spread from his stomach to his limbs, leaving him unable to correctly react.

No—he was utterly grateful to Jo, and if he could repeat the scene again, he would. The only thing he’d change was to drag Jonah to his arms and never let go of him.

But Jonah had left.

And Izaac went after him.

Before Markus lay Spencer, still sprawled on the floor and clutching at his face, but it was impossible not to see the extent of his ails. A dark bruise blossomed on the side of his jaw, veins standing out and spreading across his face until the dark coloring covered nearly all of his cheek. One of his teeth had impaled the inside of his mouth, and blood flowed from the side of his lips. Spencer cursed quietly.

Ivan had barely moved save to ask for assistance. He did not even offer his child comforting words, but with every movement Markus would sense the fury lurking underneath.

Dorian had gone to Spencer’s side and was trying to soothe him as best as he could. To Markus, it was quite clear his thoughts weren’t really in it. He must be worried about Jo.

Daniel had been sent on a wild goose chase for help right after Izaac had left, but Markus sensed that was merely pretense. Ivan wanted him out of the room, which meant he must want to talk with Dorian and Markus.

It was all Markus could do to stay, trying to run his hands through the borzoi’s soft fur to ease his troubled thoughts. He wanted to go back to his room or to go find Jo—he wanted to hug him tight and the dog, too. But he could not even bring himself to move.

“What do you know about this?” it took Markus a few breaths to realize Ivan was speaking to him.

Markus blinked, his fingers prizing on the borzoi’s ears and pinning it between thumb and index finger to stroke it.

His heart beat fast in his chest, and he had to concentrate on breathing—otherwise he’d run, screaming, from the room. Wailing like a banshee until they put a stake through his heart like the—

No. No. He could not think of it. He would not.

He screwed his eyes shut and tried to count—patterns helped soothe him. The harder the numbers the better there was—maybe seven. Seven was a good number.

_Twenty-eight, thirty-five, forty-two, forty-nine—_

Breathe.

At some point Ivan seemed to realize that Markus would not reply, because he turned his eyes from Markus to Dorian.

“I-I don’t know,” stammered Dorian once he noticed Ivan’s eyes on him, “Jo’s not like this—he’s never had anything against Spencer.” From the wild desperate look in his eyes, Markus could tell Dorian was grasping at straws—whatever he told Ivan now could mean either good or ill for Jonah. 

“Could he be drunk?” his eyes turned to Markus, but even Markus knew that was a stretch. Not only was that no excuse for the conduct, but it would infuriate Ivan even more that his staff would exhibit such behavior. “No—no. That’s not it—he doesn’t drink. Maybe it’s a misunderstanding? It _has_ to be. Jo isn’t like this!”

Suddenly, Markus wished dearly for Izaac to be there. Izaac was calm and analytical. The impression Markus got from him so far was someone watchful and calculating, sure of himself in a way one could only envy. He always carried himself with an air of dignified grace, and he was not someone to dismiss or take lightly. In his own way, even Ivan was affected by the strong presence of his own child. Izaac carried an air around him that bespoke of calm order. Anyone would flock to him for help with their troubles. Markus has a feeling that if he had remained, he’d know precisely what to do or say to get Jo out of trouble.

Markus wasn’t sure of the details of Izaac and Jo’s relationship, but he thought he saw trust there. Jonah was always the one caring for Izaac’s snooty mare, and just before they parted, hadn’t Jo specifically requested Izaac watch over Markus’ back? Hadn’t Izaac tried to pull him away from the vampire, and then, his own brother?

He’d thought Izaac would get Jo out of trouble. He had a feeling there was affection there. Not to mention, Jonah was Dorian’s cousin. Just that should be enough to make Izaac obliged to help Jo.

But Izaac wasn’t there now—not even cheerful, friendly Daniel. It was just Markus, a panicky Dorian, and an aggravated Spencer.

Unaware of his buzzing thoughts, Ivan and Dorian continued to exchange words, but Markus was deaf to them.

It occurred to him then, as he watched Spencer give a rattling breath that Markus had no reason to be there. Markus was not from here—this was not his family. Several times he had considered escaping back to town, finding a way to return to his own family—Matthew and Tam would surely be anxious to hear from him—but he knew it was hopeless. His aunt was afraid of him. His uncle too—now that Markus thought of it. The man was simply too stubborn to admit it.

So returning to them would only have him shoved someplace else. Forced service in the military, maybe—at least here, he could write them letters.

And there was Jo. He had thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, not with Jo around. He was cheerful and had a refreshing sort of honesty that brought a smile to Markus’ lips. Jo seemed to revel in Markus’ company as well. He felt _wanted_ when he was by Jo’s side. He was not the distant troublesome cousin, nor the too-quiet young man. He was Markus, and that meant something, even if it was almost nothing at all.

But with Spencer—Spencer. It was always Spencer. Now there was a risk that Jo would be torn from him, and what was he doing? He was just standing there, his fingers on a bitch’s fur, and his voice somewhere in a distant planet with a shape he could not grasp.

He couldn’t even defend Jo.

Jo had been right _there_. Hadn’t he just shown how much he cared for Markus? It had only taken a nod from his behalf and the cheerful little stable boy had turned from meek to a hot-headed beast that punched a lord’s son in the face.

Didn’t that mean _something_?

Why, then, did he have to stand there? For fear of offending Ivan? What would it matter if a small slight was committed in the face of losing Jo?

Why did he not move? He shouldn’t be standing here—he should have gone with Izaac. Even if he didn’t say a word, he needed to be there for Jo.

Jo—

It was with Jonah’s name on his lips that he stepped around Spencer, heading straight for the door to get away from Ivan and his disapproving scowls. The bitch hesitated for only a moment before she shot off after Markus, trotting up to him. She pressed herself to Markus’ side, squeezing her skinny body between his legs to trot in front of Markus.


	27. Seventh Night: A Proposal

Izaac’s thoughts whirled as he stepped out of the main house. He could not simply fathom a way that Jonah would weasel out of this one unpunished. If maybe he had waited until Spencer had finished dining and was out of sight, Izaac could have convinced him his offender hadn’t been Jonah. As things stood, and as well-deserved as the punch had been, Izaac could see no way Ivan would excuse Jonah’s actions.

Maybe he could get away with some reprimand of some kind, but that was unlikely. Ivan would want Jonah out of there and fast. Unless, of course, he talked to Spencer and convinced him to allow Jonah to stay—but how likely would that be? Spencer wasn’t known for being forgiving.

Though, hadn’t he specifically requested that Dorian be his teacher? Would there be a way through Dorian? Dorian would be desperate—he lived and breathed for that trouble-making cousin of his. If maybe some groveling from his behalf would convince Spencer to let Jonah off lightly, it was worth a shot. Izaac doubted he could do anything about the resent that would surely grow between them, but at the very least, Dorian and Izaac could convince him to tolerate Jonah.

In that case, there would only be Jonah to deal with. He’d need stop antagonizing Spencer, for one. If this behavior continued, Ivan would simply not tolerate Jonah, regardless of what Spencer said. It’d be enough if he let just this one thing slide.

For one, he’d need to figure out what Markus had told Jonah. If that wasn’t enough, he’d need to convince Jonah keep quiet about what he’d heard, and he doubted that would be easy. Jonah seemed to be quite taken with Markus. Izaac had never known him to be _this_ hot-headed for anyone or anything.

He’d need to talk to Markus too. Long-overdue, and he should’ve done it before, but it was much too late for regrets.

“You look so cute when you frown like that,” a familiar voice floated up from behind Izaac as he picked his way over the grass and to the stables.

Izaac whirled around so suddenly he nearly lost his footing. Behind him stood no other than his vampire stalker, Apep. He was smiling, those bright green eyes of his practically glowing as the light of the moon hit them. He leaned forward, towards Izaac, clearly enjoying Izaac’s shocked expression.

“When did you get here?”

“I’ve always been here—you told me we were going on a date, remember?”

“I never—”

But Apep’s smile only widened, and Izaac realized he was being had.

He scowled. Replying to the vampire would only lead into a pointless, never-ending one-sided argument. Despite his reluctance to trust the vampire, he had no choice here and now. He had wandered outside, and far from the safety of the house—he was halfway to the stables, in fact, with nothing on him save the clothes over his back. Out in the open, he either had to wrestle the vampire, or be forced to trust him. Apep may have spooked him, but he had given Izaac a warning rather than outright attack, so Izaac took a little comfort in that. His cheerful chatter indicated that he had no intention of attacking Izaac—at least, presumably.

Izaac had no choice but to ignore the warning bells going off in his head, and turn away from the vampire. He started walking again, hearing the vampire’s own boots crunch on the soft grass as he did so. He was going to be following Izaac then.

“If you’re looking for your skinny brown-haired friend, he went in the direction of the servant quarters.”

Izaac looked over his shoulder with a frown, “And you didn’t stop him?” No use asking how Apep knew.

But Apep only wrinkled his nose, “I don’t think he’d have taken that too well.”

True enough.

Ignoring him, Izaac turned around, wary, and giving the vampire a wide berth as he turned to face the house once more in what was turning out to be a hopeless race to find Dorian’s cousin. Apep looked amused at Izaac’s reaction, but held his silence—simply enjoying looking at Izaac. Silently, he followed Izaac as he stepped around the house and headed towards the separate building that housed the staff.

“If you try anything…” Izaac hissed, pointedly looking forward.

“You’ll do not a wit—there’s no weapons on you.”

He sounded incredibly smug and satisfied as he spoke.

“No biting,” warned Izaac.

“Not unless you want me to.”

This was hopeless.

“What if I asked you to leave?”

Just like that, Apep’s footsteps ceased, and Izaac was forced to turn to check on him. Apep was standing utterly still, his head tilted to the side, but his eyes were still watching Izaac carefully.

“Then, I shall, but I’ll be very sad. Most likely spend the rest of the night weeping over my broken heart.”

Izaac stared, feeling the cold night air pierce through his clothes. For once, Apep did not smile, but continued to study Izaac with the outmost seriousness. Izaac almost wanted to laugh—he _did_ have a vampire stalker. And for good too, by the looks of it.

“Right. Just stick close and don’t try anything funny.”

“I’d be delighted to,” he said cheerfully, flashing his white teeth in a broad grin. Izaac spotted no signs of the elongated fangs, but he wasn’t sure if that soothed him or made uneasiness nestle in the pit of his stomach.

They found Jonah sitting by the thick steps that led into the main entrance of the separate building, obscured by the building’s long shadow. His head was down, looking at his feet, and he made no sign of hearing Izaac or Apep’s approach. His huge dog was nowhere in sight—most likely sleeping at the stables with the horses.

“Father wants to see you,” Izaac said as he approached—no beating around the bush on that one. Jonah would know why he was there.

Jonah lifted his head at the sound of Izaac’s voice. He opened his mouth—seeming to be about to speak—but then his eyes fell on Apep, standing some distance behind Izaac. His eyes widened then, and his mouth snapped shut, nostrils flaring.

None of them spoke for a few heartbeats, lapsing into an uncomfortable silence. Izaac continued to stare at Jo, refusing to even acknowledge Apep’s existence, but Jo had eyes only for Apep. Once or twice they flicked towards Izaac, and he seemed about to speak, but then they bounce back to Apep with a glare.

“Izaac that is—”

“A friend,” Izaac kept his voice level and his eyes fixed on Jonah. He ignored Apep’s baffled stare—digging into the back of his skull.

Jonah said nothing at first, eyes widening with confusion. “But that’s the guy I saw with the horses...”

Apep stepped forward, his arm brushing lightly against Izaac’s, “I was checking on my stallion.”

“Stallion?”

“But then your dog was very rude and tried to tear off my leg. I still don’t appreciate it,” Apep continued as if Jonah had not spoken a word.

“Bear was just doing his job,” now it was Jonah’s turn to get defensive. He was scowling now, his hands tightening over the bulge of his knees.

“You should take your stallion while you’re at it,” Izaac put in lightly, glancing sideways at Apep.

Apep turned his head to face Izaac with a grin, “Where’s my kiss then?”

“So you two are _that_ kind of friend’s then...” Jonah’s voice was low and full of wonder.

“What?” Izaac rounded on Jo with a scowl, ignoring Apep’s burst of giggles, “don’t be ridiculous, Jo.”

How had Izaac allowed these two to derail the conversation? It was a rather serious matter too. In a way, he Izaac knew he shouldn’t expect any different. He suspected Jonah and Apep would get along wonderfully, at the very least.

“Anyway,” Izaac forced himself to say before either Apep or Jonah could come up with a reply. “I hope you realize you’re in a spot of trouble for your behavior before, Jo—”

“You have really diverse tastes, Izaac. I mean, I thought you liked the younger ones, all that smooth young skin and nubile young bodies, but I guess this is OK too—”

“Jo,” Izaac hissed, scowling, forcing Jonah to stop staring at Apep and turn his eyes back to Izaac, “no.”

“What?” his eyes were wide, all fake innocence.

“No.”

“But—”

“_No._”

Jonah looked amused—biting his tongue with his teeth and grinning broadly at Izaac. He did not speak up immediately, but instead, studied Izaac in silence, his eyes going from Izaac to Apep and grinning all the more. Izaac could only catch a hint of Apep’s expression from his peripheral vision, but he looked to be smiling.

Apep opened his mouth to speak, but Izaac jabbed an elbow into his side before he could continue the pointless conversation. Apep stopped, frowned at Izaac, and lifted a hand to clutch at his side.

Izaac ignored him.

“What did Markus tell you?” Izaac finally broke the silence with a heavy sigh.

“Markus? No, Markus hasn’t said a word to me since he arrived. Dorian told me.”

Of course it was Dorian. _Of course._ Izaac put too much faith in that one. He must have told Jonah after he went to fulfill Izaac’s request to warn the staff to be wary about Apep—he could see it now. Chattering about the possibility of a vampire in the property, then _oh_, Jonah, did you know Spencer nearly killed Markus?

He could see it now.

“Did he tell you not to repeat it?”

“Well, yeah,” Jonah admitted, looking away from Izaac and back to his feet—the supple leather of the boots was worn to near-disrepair in places. Soon, his toes would be poking out, and Dorian would be off to buy him new ones. “but I just couldn’t let that bastard get away with it—and maybe, Markus will feel a little better now. Besides, I didn’t tell anyone.”

“No. You just went and punched Ivan’s son in the face in front of a guest, no less.”

“Danny is Markus’ friend.”

Izaac sighed, trying to resist the urge to smack his forehead. To his side, Apep smirked, clearly amused.

“That just makes it worse.”

“Does it, though? If he vouches for me, Ivan won’t be able to throw me out.”

Maybe Jo wasn’t as hot-headed as he seemed to be, but he had entirely too much faith in people. There was no guarantee Ivan would listen to his guest—not when it was a common drunkard, and definitely not when Spencer was involved.

“That’s a big ‘maybe’,” Izaac tried to keep calm, but it was difficult with Jonah glancing at his feet, cracking excuses, and rubbing at the green grass with the toe of his boot, “but there’s nothing to be done now. Ivan wants to see you, but I think that’s a bad idea. Think you could hop on a horse’s back and run along for a big chunk of the night?”

Jonah looked up at Izaac, squinting at him in the darkness. “You’re serious?”

“Very,” Izaac tried not to smile, “if no one sees you, even better. Come back when it’s morning—I’ll deal with my father.”

“What will you tell him?”

Izaac shrugged, “That I couldn’t find you.”

“And how will that help?”

Izaac shrugged a second time, “he won’t be able to witness your love-struck stupidity first-hand.”

“Harsh,” Apep breathed. 

Jonah seemed to want to argue the point, his knuckles turning paler over his knees, but in the end, he sighed, slumping over. All air went out of his chest, and his head hung lover over his shoulders.

“Fine,” he finally said, “but I’m taking the black gelding.”

“Of course. Wouldn’t want him to think you’re not above stealing a horse.”

Jonah glared, but did not argue. With another world-weary sigh, he pushed himself back to his feet, bouncing from foot to foot as he kicked the feeling back to his legs. “I’ll wake you up early,” Jonah vowed.

“I’ll look forward to it,” Izaac said with a small smile.


	28. Seventh Night: Questions

To his side, Apep kept pace with Izaac. Neither had spoken a word since Jo had disappeared between the trees, his head upturned to glance at the moon, before he hurried in the direction of the stables. They had waited, a few brief seconds, until they spotted Jonah crossing the field. He, at least, knew enough about the terrain to know where to hide. He used the wind and the shifting shadows of the trees to hop from shadow to shadow and keep himself mostly in darkness. If it wasn’t for Izaac’s sharp eyesight, he would’ve missed it entirely. 

There were a few workers still going about their business—he could smell cigarette smoke, and see a few figures shambling over the fields. A girl rested under the shed of a tree, chattering away with a young man with blond hair. From both buildings, came the sound of footsteps and people shifting around. No one was paying attention to them—Izaac could spot no curious eyes peering from between the windows, at the very least. Spencer and Ivan were definitely not peering out the kitchen’s windows, so there was nothing to worry about there.

In the end, despite his better knowing, he decided to enjoy what little time he could spend with Apep. After all, how many chances did a hunter get to chat idly with a vampire?

“Your stallion is in trouble here,” Izaac kept his voice hushed, and he refused to look at Apep directly—instead studying the tall figure from his peripheral vision, “the servants don’t like how, ah, wild it is.”

Unlike Izaac, Apep had no qualms against looking at Izaac—and he did so openly. He spared Izaac a long look, his gaze wandering from his face to his arms and hands and back again. “His name is Sickle,” he kept his voice as low as Izaac’s, but there was an edge to it that bespoke of excitement, “and he can take of himself. He’s just moody. He hasn’t done anything to you, has he?”

“Not in the slightest,” he truly had no complains of the stallion—Izaac had a gift for ill-tempered horses, and with Teke he had all the experience he needed. Not that either of the horses acted anything but mild and pleasant under his care. “He nearly ran over my brother.” Sickle, he’d need to make a note of that. Somehow, the name wasn’t altogether surprising—sounded ominous enough.

Apep frowned at that, “What did he do?”

Izaac had a feeling “he” was Spencer and not the unruly stallion.

“Hurt her mouth,” Izaac was still furious about that—and it reminded him of the reason Spencer’s horses turned vicious or did not last long. “He was trying to ride her, and she was having none of that.”

“Good,” Apep said—surprising Izaac. Not that Izaac had expected any real sympathy, but he thought Apep could at least pretend, couldn’t he? “I hope he learned his lesson.”

“Unfortunately, no. But that’s besides the point—the stallion must go.”

“Where’s my kiss then?” there was a crooked grin on his lips.

Izaac sighed—this again.

Apep bit his lip and looked away—his eyes fixing on the woods besides them. These were tranquil lands—there were wolves, but they were far, and only strayed closer in the winter months, when the harsh cold drew the beasts far in search for food. The smell of the cows and sheep tended to attract them, but there were rarely deaths. A torn sheep at most, but for an animal to wander this far it was desperate and hungry. A few armed men and the wolves were taken care of.

Vampires kept clear from the area as well. It was widely known that hunters lived in the town, though they went to great lengths to keep the number and identity of the members a secret, it was impossible to hide from them completely. There were rumors, of course—even within the vampires, but Izaac did not worry himself about those. Mere speculations and nothing else.

Which begged the question that he had asked himself every night ever since he saw the vampire standing inside the horse’s pastures—how had Apep found him? He suspected the stallion, of course, and he had a few theories, but nothing that explained how Apep had discovered where he lived in a matter of hours.

“If you don’t want to kiss me just say so,” Apep’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and when Izaac turned his head to look at Apep’s, there was a pout hanging over the man’s lips.

“Maybe I think the request is too asinine to bother replying to.”

The pout looked ridiculous now—his bottom lip pushed out until it folded back, his eyes wide and glittering. “Can I come back tomorrow at the very least?”

“You truly expect me to continue encouraging your unscrupulous behavior.”

“I simply want to have a conversation with you without these rubbish interruptions.”

Easy for Apep to say, of course. He was the one that kept barging into Izaac’s home and startling the dogs. He also appeared to know everything about Izaac whereas Izaac knew not a wit of this vampire save his name. He had tried to study anything into the name, of course, but besides tales of giant black serpents, there appeared to be nothing in correlation. Perhaps, the vampire was simply that ancient, but to be compared with a reptile until the figure acquired its form required a bit of imagination that Izaac could in no way, shape, or form attribute to any sane person. He suspected it was a false name then—a pseudonym, but he wasn’t sure why the vampire would lie to him when he seemed so intent on conquering Izaac. Short of the matter was—a name like that was too ridiculous to be anything _but_ true.

“Mayhaps I’ll consider if you answer a few questions.”

Apep seemed to consider that in silence—he frowned at his feet, bowing his head as he thought. Izaac did not expect him to answer anything, but he at least, would have a better feel for this vampire.

“Alright. But only one,” he lifted his head to Izaac with that familiar crooked grin, “One answer per visit.”

Izaac wanted to argue, but the mischievous sparkle in Apep’s eyes warned him it would be tricky to negotiate. The vampire seemed to be fond of exchanges, and this way, he probably felt he’d be entitled to more visits, if only to quench Izaac’s curiosity.

“And how will I know you won’t lie?”

“You won’t, of course. At least, not for most questions I suspect, but I’ll be as honest as I’m able.”

Which meant, not at all. He’d whistle a believable lie or simply sing half-truths and omit information, but the tales he’d weave would be pretty ones. He’d make sure Izaac believed him, and that would be enough. Unless Izaac had a way to piece out the truth, which would be unlikely, given the nature of his curiosity, he’d be stuck having to believe whatever Apep said.

“That won’t be enough,” he said, meeting Apep’s odd green eyes with his own.

Apep looked surprised, but the expression softened into a soft smile, and his fingers brushed against Izaac’s hands. Izaac tried not to flinch away, but his eyes must have revealed something of his discomfort, because Apep did not try again. 

“I swear to you, Izaac, I won’t lie. If I cannot answer your question, I’ll try to be as detailed as I can, or speculate, but I cannot promise more than that.”

Truly, Izaac had no choice but to believe the vampire, at least for now…

“How many people do you have watching me?”

Apep was shameless—a small smile was offered and that was all. “Have you not yet figured it out?” when Izaac did not answer his question, he broke into a wide smile, “Very well. It pleases me to know they are well out of sight. There’s more than one—I will not spoil the surprise, since you should be able to figure it out by yourself. I’ll offer you a hint. Most animals are able to tell a vampire by sight and smell, however, only beasts with noses as sharp as dogs are able to tell anyone who’s been near a vampire in the past few days.”

That was... interesting. A detail Izaac did not know—it seemed scent hounds would have more uses than just hunting game. However that did not really answer his ques—

“And, of course, since that wasn’t a real answer, you may ask another question.”

Izaac had to bite back a smile. The vampire was being fair—though that did not mean there were no tricks up his sleeve.

“How did you come by my home so quickly?” he hardly had to think of his question—it was already at the tip of his tongue.

“Oh, simple. I already knew where you lived.”

_What?_

The answer was unexpected, and it makes Izaac abruptly cease walking. They stood mere feet from the main doors then—just a few more steps and Apep would have done his part in escorting Izaac home. Izaac could not bring himself to care, however—he had briefly considered that the vampire knew of him before, of course, but he had dismissed the idea rather quickly. It did not make sense for the vampire to suddenly search for him then, and even if he knew—how would he have found out? Ivan went through great lengths to make sure their identities as vampire hunters would remain a secret from anyone outside the hunters. Rumors could spread, of course, but for them to be so precise as for a vampire to find his way here...

“How?”

Apep smiled, “Is that another question I hear?”

“No. It is a mere moment of self-doubt. If you truly cared to court me, you’d provide comfort.”

Apep looked amused by his response, and he smiled broadly at Izaac, taking a single step closer.

“That, I can provide,” he murmured, and with those words, he leaned forward, his hands tentatively reaching for Izaac’s.

Izaac did not push him away, allowing Apep’s fingers to wind around his own. He looked up to meet Apep’s eyes. A small smile hung over those lips, and he watched Izaac carefully, as if expecting Izaac to tear himself away. He could not have even if he wanted to—Izaac was transfixed under those eyes, and all at once, he did not care for the answer to his question. He simply wanted to enjoy the oddly cool touch of Apep’s fingers.

When Izaac did not shy away, Apep leaned forward, tilting his head slightly so that his lips could brush against Izaac’s. Eagerly, Izaac pushed himself towards Apep, meeting his lips full on. Apep licked Izaac’s lips, and Izaac relented, allowing the pink tongue to explore his mouth.

The kiss was slow and sweet, and he allowed himself to linger into it, enjoying the feel of Apep’s hands around his own.

When they parted, Apep offered a goofy grin, his eyes sparkling. He did not immediately release Izaac’s hand, but instead, attempted to deepen the touch, setting down one of his hands at Izaac’s hips.

It was then that he noticed there was someone standing by the wide open doors of the house. He spotted brown hair and mournful brown eyes—a spotted dog by his side, the tail wagging faintly, and her jaws parted in a pant.

_Markus_.

Before Izaac could react, Markus’ eyes widened. Hurriedly, he put his hand around the dog’s shoulders and tugged at the skin there to usher the bitch inside. She followed along meekly enough, tail still wagging. And just like that, Markus was out of sight.

_Shit._

Without a single coherent through fluttering through his mind, Izaac rushed forward, only to be stopped by Apep’s hand.

Wildly, he turned to look at Apep—ready to bark down an order, but the words died in his throat as soon as he met Apep’s eyes.

“May I come tomorrow?”

Izaac could not fathom why that was a question, even now, “Yes!” he hissed.

“Into the house?”

“Why don’t you get one of your spies to invite you in?”

“I want it to be you.”

Izaac stared, but Apep did not retract his statement. He offered that same small smile to him, and his gaze was unwavering.

“If this is your tactic to conquer me, I suggest you change it.”

“Is that a yes, then?”

He truly was shameless.

“Meet me at the stables,” and before he could think too much of it, Izaac offered Apep a light peck on the lips before stepping around him at into the house. He paused once, at the door, to glance at Apep, and the vampire offered him a warm smile and an encouraging nod.

Nothing to be done there then—off to chase down Markus before misunderstandings would spread.


	29. Seventh Night: Threats

When Izaac reached the heavy oaken doors to enter the house, Markus was already halfway up the stairs. He took the steps, two at a time, his eyes looking down at his feet. The bitch struggled to keep up with him, her paws hesitating over the steps, but when Markus did not turn around to urge her along, she hurriedly followed, reluctant to part from his side.

Izaac did not look to either side, for fear of catching his father’s attention, instead he hurried forward, hoping Ivan did not see him as he slunk past the dining room’s doors and headed for the staircase.

He thought that Markus would whirl around to face him at the top of the steps, but Markus continued straight ahead, turning to the hallway that would lead to Daniel and his own room. Izaac followed as closely as he could, tempted to call out to Markus, but not daring. The sound of his voice would surely attract Ivan’s attention if the sight of him had not. At least in Markus’ room, there would be more privacy.

Markus did not enter the room as Izaac had hoped. Instead, he turned, one hand on the surface of the door’s dark wood, the other resting at the dog’s scruff. He glared at Izaac, lips pressed tightly together, but unsurprisingly, he didn’t speak. The lines of his face showed stark and grim—his skin deathly pale, heavy bags under his eyes—he looked sickly.

It wouldn’t do to face him straight out, so instead Izaac said, “I talked to Jo.”

Markus suddenly looked unsure, and for an instant, his expression appeared open, even vulnerable, but before Izaac could grasp as its strings, the lines of his face hardened, and his eyes narrowed. He held his silence.

“He’ll be fine,” Izaac assured him, for all the good it would do, “at least if I talk to Spencer he will, which is why I’d come to you...”

Markus still glared, though Izaac couldn’t pinpoint why. Had he somehow recognized Apep? Could it be possible Markus and Apep knew each other? But no, when would they have met? It was not impossible, but it was unlikely. If it wasn’t that—what other reason would Markus have for his sudden suspicion? Wary, yes—but something told him this was more than wariness.

“He’ll ask for something in return. If people learn about your incident, Spencer will be in a spot of trouble. I can convince him, but he’d want you to stay quiet about what he did to you in return.”

Markus’ hand tightened around the bitch’s shoulders, but otherwise, he gave no sign of even hearing Izaac.

“I mislike it as you as you, but there’s little choice. He will want Jonah’s head, and there’s little that will pacify my brother.”

Markus regarded Izaac through narrowed eyes for a few heartbeats. Izaac waited, struggling to look impatient and desperate but only feeling foolish. Right at this moment, he could care less about Spencer and his troubles.

Finally, Markus gave a stiff nod of assent. He did not seem to like it one bit, judging by his wrinkled nose, and the locked jaw, but Izaac had at least obtained his agreement.

“I also have a favor to ask...” It did not take much debating for Izaac to decide his point of attack. Strong and stoic inspired followers, but Markus would not take kindly to orders—least of all in his current state. If Izaac appeared vulnerable, Markus would be more compelled to listen to his words, whether from pity or because he’d think himself to have an advantage over Izaac. Either way, it could keep him quiet for long enough until Izaac managed to put his affairs in order. “Please don’t speak to anyone about what you saw,” Markus’ eyes widened, turned curious, “at least for a time. It would be appreciated.”

Markus did not even stop to think—he nodded at Izaac, his fingers releasing the dog’s scruff. He did not smile or offer words of comfort, but he seemed to see no reason to refuse Izaac’s request.

Izaac forced a smile to his lips, trying to summon words of assent—anything to seal the deal and assure Markus would not speak, when Markus’ eyes widened, and the sound of footsteps finally reached Izaac’s ears.

Izaac half turned long enough to see Spencer, a hand clutching at his face, blood dripping from between his fingers, and a furious scowl over his eyes, before he turned away from the sight, thoughts racing. Spencer paid him no mind. He went to stand to Izaac’s side; his rage pointed at Markus, and shoved a slim accusatory finger at Markus’ face.

“Think you’d send your pretty boy to maim me, huh?” his voice rasped in his throat, and choked around the fluid of his blood, but Spencer barely stopped to draw breath.

Markus did not reply, but Izaac noticed that suddenly his wary suspicion had melted from his face. In its place, was what looked to be fear—his eyes were wide, his jaw slack, and his fingers grasped across the surface of the door, searching for the knob. He would have found it if he had just glanced down to his hands, but his eyes were glued to Spencer. To his side, the spotted bitch stood on guard, putting herself in front of Markus so as to create a comforting wall of black and white fur between the two of them. She glanced at Spencer—ears high, tail stiff behind her. 

“You think I’ll just swallow it, huh?”

Markus’ cheeks were red, his eyes sported blood vessels, and a vein seemed to throb on his temple. He was still sick, that much was obvious, but it almost looked as if Spencer’s confrontation was making the symptoms even more obvious.

“Just go and tell your girlfriend that next time he touches me I’ll have his hand cut.”

The bitch bared her teeth at Spencer, but he was oblivious. He was leaning forward, until Markus pressed his back tight against the rough surface of the door, his eyes cast downwards, and his hands flat on either side of him.

“Spencer—”

“Shut up!” Spencer turned on Izaac, his hand dropping from his face to reveal a crooked nose, purple and swelling. “I’m tired of your shit—you probably find this really funny, dontcha? Have the little asshole break my nose in front of a guest—that’ll be swell!”

Markus’ fingers finally grasped the knob, and he wasted no time twisting it until the door slid open behind him. The sound of the door rasping against carpet dragged Spencer’s attention away from Izaac and back to Markus. It took him half a heartbeat to understand what was happening, and when it did, his anger grew palpable.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he hissed, taking a step towards Markus.

The spotted bitch snarled, the whites of her eyes showing. Spencer looked down at her—

“Come away, Spence,” Izaac warned—he dare not take a step towards either of them now. The dog was like to maul anyone that moved, and with Spencer in a mood, Izaac did not want to risk becoming the object of his wrath. Ivan would not tolerate more harm coming to his younger child...

Which begged the question, where was Ivan?

Spencer ignored Izaac. He took another step forward, attempting to side-step around the dog. She did not allow him, snarling she made to leap at Spencer, intent of snapping her jaws around limb to tear flesh. Spencer moved instinctively, he aimed a strong kick at the dog’s abdomen that knocked the wind from her and sent her sprawling to the ground. She yelped, her paws scrambling against the floor, tail tucked between her legs, a stream of piss following her where she went.

Markus gasped, but had no time to do much more than that. Spencer was on him then, fingers grasping the neck of his shirt, and hauling him upwards. Markus’ hands went to curl over Spencer’s, the nails digging against his skin, but Spencer ignored it. Teeth bared, he slammed Markus against the door’s frame, ignoring the way Markus’ limbs shook, and how his breath came in dreadful gasps.

“I wasn’t finished,” Spencer hissed between clenched teeth.

He was ignored, however. Markus was not looking at Spencer, but instead, he cast his glance about the hallway, searching for the dog as she half-dragged, half-crawled away from Spencer, her jaws parted as she panted.

The sound of footsteps echoed from behind Izaac.

“I want you to listen, OK? And I want you to listen well and go—”

Markus looked pale, there looked to be something dripping from his nose—

“Let go of him,” Izaac urged, taking a step towards Spencer to rip Markus from his hands.

Spencer turned to look at him, both baffled and angered. Markus wheezed a breath, and that was all he could do before it came tumbling from his mouth—a scarlet waterfall mixed with froth and spittle. It poured over Spencer’s hands, and splashed his chest. Startled, Spencer yelped, his fingers slipping from Markus shirt, taking hurried steps back until his back pressed against the opposite door frame.

Without the support, Markus fell to his knees. He bent over, clutching at his stomach, pink split clinging from his lips and nose. He spat out globs of blood, breath wheezing.

Izaac did not turn to look once he felt the presence behind him. “Fetch a doctor,” he told Dorian, “fetch a doctor now.”


	30. Seventh Night: Wine

It took three hours for the doctor to arrive. Izaac spent them in Markus’ room—giving his cousin whatever help he could spare. Markus continued puking fat near-black globs of blood for a good portion of an hour, wheezing, snot clinging from his nostrils, until he was simply too weak to vomit any more.

Water was brought to him, as well as some wine—and it was the only thing he could keep down. Everything else more than just a few bites, and he’d retch it along with whatever blood flooded his belly. 

Markus’ room proved small and cramped when compared to Izaac’s cozier lofts. The carpets were red engraved with copper and silver—the thick curtains with similar pattering, but the colors slightly off. Markus’ bed was large, but not fitting to the room’s smaller size. His dresser and desk were considerably empty—nothing but a single white tome resting on the surface of the desk. A bone lay in a corner of the room—deep bite marks along its length. Overall it was almost dull on how organized it was—mostly due to Markus’ few possessions. 

The only blessing that could come from this was that Ivan kept away. He did not go to Markus, clearly afraid of catching some disease, and what brief time Izaac spoke to him, it was clear that he did not blame Markus for Jo’s actions. Spencer himself seemed to realize what Markus’ sickness could possibly imply, and he stopped mentioning the pain on his nose altogether. When Izaac managed to exchange a few words with Dorian, Dorian made sure that Spencer would never again mention his nose—what exactly was said, Izaac did not know, but it looked to be enough.

The spotted bitch clung loyally to Markus’ side. She whined when Markus retched, and shoved her nose at his face whenever he lay back on the bed. With the thoughtless efficiency of a dog, she licked Markus’ face and hands until the skin was pink. Markus never pushed her away, and even managed a weak smile for her which she took with a wag of her tail.

Markus was sleeping when Lionel—the doctor—arrived. A good thing too, because it was not met kindly—Dorian looked positively miserable, Ivan scowled once he stumbled from his office into the room, Spencer hid in his room, and Izaac tried not to follow his brother’s example and flee as well. The only one that looked pleased to see him was Daniel.

To Lionel’s credit, his breath was not heavy enough to knock Izaac out—not that it was pleasing. The heavy stench of liquor still clung to his clothes, which were stained yellow and red with wine and rum. His hair stuck out around his face like a halo, and he squinted whenever he went, looking like some sickly prune.

“How is he?” his words hardly slurred too—a plus.

“Sleeping,” Izaac was forced to reply when neither Dorian nor Ivan stepped in to provide aid, “shall I wake him?”

Lionel squinted at Izaac, taking a labored breath before he finally wheezed, “If you please.”

Eager to turn away, Izaac moved towards the bed, gently shaking Markus by the shoulder, urging him to wake by calling his name. Markus turned his face away from Izaac, frowning, but a few insistent shakes and his eyelids finally fluttered open, glaring up at Izaac.

“The doctor is here,” he explained, “can you sit up?”

Markus did not reply, but he did set his arms against the mattress, pushing himself up until he sat. Izaac thought he looked world-weary as he glanced about the room, dark bags under his eyes, and the skin so translucent, Izaac could see the blood vessels underneath.

“Oh, right, Markus was it, right? I’m Lionel Moreno—your, ah, doctor this night” hastily, Lionel nudged himself to the bedside, squinting at Markus as Markus squinted back. He looked uneasy as he stood by the bedside, and Dorian went to fetch the doctor a chair.

“Can you tell me what you feel? Is there pain anywhere?”

Markus did not verbally reply, but he pointed a finger at his throat, then his stomach.

“I see. Dorian told me you vomited blood—did that continue after?”

Markus nodded.

“How much blood was there?”

To Izaac’s surprise, Markus turned his eyes to look up at him.

“Too much,” Izaac automatically replied, “I’d say it was near fatal, but as you can see, he’s still rather strong—all things considered.”

Lionel nodded at that, once, twice.

“Tired?”

Markus nodded.

“Hungry?”

Markus considered that for a moment before shaking his head.

“Thirsty?” Izaac offered.

Markus did not hesitate—he nodded.

“Mmmm,” Lionel hummed in thought, turning away from Markus to dig in his bag, “with your permission, I’d like to do a few tests...”

Izaac took his leave. He offered Markus a quick gesture to assure his cousin he’d be back soon, then fixed his eyes on Dorian, urging him away from the room. Loyal, as always, Dorian did not hesitate, but followed Izaac out into the hallway.

“Couldn’t you find someone else?” Izaac hissed.

Dorian shook his head, “I tried, but there was no one. Everyone’s too busy or not home. I brought him as a last resort...”

It’d figure. 

“What do you think though?” Dorian’s eyes were wide and curious, clearly eager to hear his friend’s opinion.

“I think it’s the vampire blood—he ate too much too fast during dinner.”

Dorian’s eyes widened then, “Do you think he’ll—?”

Izaac shook his head, “Maybe, but I’ll find a way to stop it.”

“He’ll need blood until it wears off though, but where will we get it? Ivan will throw him out. Spencer would tell Ivan...”

_Apep_ thought Izaac, but he held his tongue, “We’ll think of something,” he said instead, struggling to think of a way it could be brought about.

“If we don’t get any blood in him now though…”

That was true. Markus might look just strong enough to carry himself now, but if he lost anymore blood, he’d be in serious danger. He’d need to pull it back into himself and fast. If Apep was still around, Izaac could get help from him, but the chances of that were slim, and Izaac couldn’t lead the vampire into thinking he was depending on him. No, that was the wrong course of action. He needed to think this one through himself.

“You wouldn’t be up to slitting your wrists for...”

“No,” Dorian said with a frown, “Ivan would notice.”

That was true. Ivan might be many things but he wasn’t blind—he would notice the scar or wound and eventually be forced to ask Spencer if he knew what would be happening with Dorian, which was were the problem lied. Spencer might say he didn’t know, or he’d admit everything but say it was Izaac the one that did it, or even Markus himself in a fit of rage or passion—it was impossible to tell with Spencer, and it was a risk Izaac was not prepared to take.

Izaac couldn’t do it either—Ivan would surely notice, and he’d be eager to find a reason to put more pressure on Izaac in favor of Spencer. He could have slit his thigh, but he didn’t trust Markus enough to handle his blood. If Markus were to acquire a taste for it he’d be in trouble.

There was someone though...

“Did you see Jonah on your way?”

Dorian grimaced at that, turning his eyes away from Izaac. “I did. He’s waiting at the stables—he didn’t want to, but I convinced him to.”

Izaac nodded, considering briefly how he would word his request.

“There’s a silver dagger in my room, on top of the desk, fetch that, then go into the kitchens and get a flask of red wine.”

Dorian frowned, but he did not question Izaac—he knew time was of the essence. If they didn’t do this quickly, they would be noticed.

“Do I bring them here?”

Izaac shook his head, forcing a bitter smile to his lips, “You won’t like this, I’m afraid.”

Dorian looked grim, but he offered a single stiff nod.

“Take them to the stables to Jonah—tell him to pour some of his blood into the flask—make sure to mix it well,” he ignored the look of horror Dorian flashed him and plowed on, “the more blood the better, but don’t tell that to Jo, he might slit his throat. After that, bring it here and give it to me.”

Dorian did not like the idea one bit, his nostrils flared, and he seemed about to argue.

“Don’t,” Izaac warned him, “we need to do this, else Jo will be done for. Try to be quick, and if anyone asks, you need a break from all this.”

It took more eager words, but Izaac finally managed to convince him it was necessary. Urging Dorian away, it did not even occur to him to warn Dorian against liquor-eager Lionel until he was back in Markus’ room, where he was met with a sheepish:

“Ah, Izaac, is it possible to fetch some wine for myself, and, ah, for the patient.”

Izaac tried not to hiss. Instead, he offered a stiff nod, and assured both Lionel and Markus that it would be done, before turning around and walking back out the door.


	31. Seventh Night: Bedside

Lionel left an hour after his arrival—or at least Izaac wished. Cordial as ever, Ivan had invited him to stay, and thus, Lionel stayed in one of the second floor guest rooms, where he wisely stayed.

Markus condition was exponentially better after the consumption of the wine-and-blood concoction. Color had returned to his cheeks, and the vomiting had ceased. Lionel had tried some remedies, made a few suggestions, and recommended Markus some rest. That had been that. The good thing about Lionel being a useless doctor was that it was precisely what was needed for the time.

Izaac sat by Markus’ bedside now, keeping watch over his cousin. As caution demanded, he had made sure to close the heavy wooden door that led into Markus’ room.

He had pulled up a small armchair from a nearby room especially for such an occasion, and that’s where he sat now, thoughts racing.

Markus’ room was dominated by a single bed, large enough to accommodate two or three comfortably. This one’s purpose seemed to be to harbor the bitch and Markus. There was one window on the room, overlooking the back of the house, with a green field, pushed towards the wall opposite the door. If one were to face the window, standing at the door, one would find a small desk made of dark wood, but no visible desk chair. Izaac had found a few books in the desk’s drawer—vampire lore and a few hunter books. They did not look like they had been recently read, so chances were, Markus planned on ignoring them. A tiny night table stood under the window, shoved against the bed with covers of dull blue lined with golden accents.

The spotted bitch had left a chewed-up bone near Izaac’s feet. As Izaac thought, he absent-mindedly kicked the bone to and fro.

“What time is it?” Markus groaned, his words muffled.

Izaac sharply looked up, frowning, “Late. How do you feel?”

Markus did not hesitate: “Tired.”

“Then rest,” Markus seemed to frown at that, pursing his lips, so Izaac swiftly changed his tactic. “A question?”

Markus hesitated, looking away from Izaac with a frown. He groped blindly in the half-darkness of the room, and it was only until his fingers curled around the long hairs of the dog that he finally replied.

“Of a sort.”

“Oh?”

Markus did not reply immediately. He sat up in bed, stroking the dog, pointedly looking down at her instead of Izaac.

“What did the wine have?”

Izaac stared at Markus, wondering what he should reply. When Markus did not speak up again, Izaac simply said: “I will explain later, you should rest for now.”

Markus did not move, but Izaac knew he wouldn’t be satisfied with the answer.

“How’s Jo?”

He still refused to look at Izaac, but from the tightness around his lips, Izaac almost thought this question was more important than the other. That was interesting—did Markus think to derail Izaac from the obvious?

“He has not been run off.”

There was relief in every line of Markus’ body. He practically seemed to deflate as Izaac looked on.

“Is he staying, then?”

“That’s not up to me to decide,” Izaac kept his tone gentle, his voice low, “but I have talked with Spencer and he’s willing to forgive Jo... at least for now.”

Markus nodded, running his hands through the dog’s coat.

“Seeing as you’re feeling well, I will go to my own room to rest then,” Izaac’s words were abrupt, but he ignored the looks of alarm Markus threw at him. Smiling gently, he stood, turning away from Markus, stopping then turning back to face Markus. Without giving Markus a single glance, he set down a wineskin atop Markus’ night stand. Once he was sure Markus had seen what it was, Izaac turned away from him again. This time, he did not turn back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all there is of this story...


End file.
